


Comfortably Numb

by CaliforniaKat



Series: The Comfortably Numb Series [1]
Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 03:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 67
Words: 283,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaKat/pseuds/CaliforniaKat
Summary: Comfortably Numb is an all-human story set mostly in New York City.  It follows the love story of Eric and Sookie, two individuals incredibly beaten down and emotionally stilted due to the cruelty of their parents.  Can they learn to love themselves and each other, even as outside forces try to rip them apart?  Will their love survive, or will they be faced with a life in which they succumb–once more–to numbness?





	1. Harbinger

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 
> 
> All publicly recognized characters, images, lines of dialogue, song titles, and plot lines are the sole property of their creators. I own only my own ideas and the characters I create; however, even those constructions would be impossible without the characters in True Blood and the Southern Vampire Mystery series. My work is not-for-profit and intended only for the enjoyment of the writer and readers. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1: Harbinger

January 12, 2013

“I can’t stay in New York,” she whispered desperately, needing him to understand. “I can’t stay with you.”

“I know,” he answered, his tone despondent—accepting.

“I love you,” she said even more quietly, almost just mouthing the words.

“I know,” he said again.

In that moment, Sookie Stackhouse let the negative thoughts that she was feeling about herself stream from her lips. “I don’t blame you for any of this, Eric. I’m a freak, just like your father said. I don’t deserve you.”

“Sookie,” he tried to interrupt.

“No. It’s true.” She gestured down at her dress. “And even in this two thousand dollar dress, I’m plain compared to most of the women in here. Your father is right. I’m defective.”

“No,” he whispered.

She continued relentlessly. “You and I come from two different worlds. Appius is,” she paused, her voice halting, “right; my only place in your world would be as your mistress—your kept woman.”

“Sookie, I don’t think that way,” Eric insisted.

“I know,” she said sadly. “But it’s still the truth.” She sighed. “You are so many things I could never be. You are going to be the head of Northman Publishing one day, and you . . . ,” her voice trailed off before regaining a little strength. “And you need someone who can be what you need when you get there. We’ve been living in a bubble for these last months—a beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. We both knew going in that this wasn’t going to last.” She sighed resignedly. “It’s time to stop pretending.”

“Sookie,” he started, “I’m not pretending. Not with you. Never.”

She shook her head sadly. “I know that what we had—what we have—is real, Eric. But it’s still all just make-believe. It’s a fairy tale.” She looked down at the floor. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy; maybe my mother was right.”

“Sookie,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Don’t you fucking say that! You don’t deserve any of this.”

“I don’t think that I would be hurting this much if I didn’t somehow deserve it,” Sookie returned dejectedly. “My mother always told me that you reap what you sow. She warned me that I was defective—broken. But I couldn’t help myself. I just—I just wanted to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too,” Eric returned, his face contorting a little with stress.

“As Appius just made clear,” Sookie said, looking over Eric’s shoulder at the Patriarch of the Northman family, who was staring back at her, “what you or I want is immaterial.”

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that Eric just stood there looking at her, unable to say a single thing to make the situation better. He should have told her that it was he who wasn’t worthy of her. He should have told her—finally—that he loved her. He should have told her he’d been happier with her during their eight months together than with anyone else in his whole life. But those words wouldn’t take away the sting of the ones she’d just “overheard” from his conversation with his father.

All he could do was to look at her with pleading eyes, but she was no longer meeting his gaze. Her blue eyes were focused on the floor in front of her.

Sookie felt like crying, but she was too numb for the tears to fall. And she was grateful for that—given the public nature of their talk. It hadn’t escaped her notice that they were standing in front of Monet’s Four Trees where Eric had first spoken to her—exactly one year earlier. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that his father’s, his stepmother’s, and Andre’s eyes were trained on them—examining them as if they were animals in a zoo.

Not being able to weep, she almost laughed at the situation.

Neither Eric nor she was normal, but that fact was not going to be enough to keep them together. In fact, it demonstratively indicated just how far apart they were. He was rich and successful and handsome, seemingly on top of the world—the ideal upper-class New York bachelor.

By contrast, she barely made enough money to scrape by in New York, and she toiled as a copy editor for nine hours a day, five days a week just to do that. Coming from a lower middle-class Louisiana family, she certainly had no pedigree. And even her own family had rejected her because of her handicap—because she was a “freak.” What little confidence she had been gaining throughout her time in New York now felt tenuous at best.

To Appius, it didn’t matter that Eric and she had both been empty shells before they’d met. It didn’t matter that they made each other stronger. And it certainly didn’t matter that they’d given each other the two things that they’d always been missing before: happiness, hope.

No. To Appius Northman, none of that mattered in the least. Important to him were his reputation and his money. What he craved most were power and ultimate control, especially when wielded to the detriment of his firstborn son.

Sookie closed her eyes, determined not to fall apart—at least not yet. Not there.

She exhaled a shaky breath. No—her brand of “abnormal” was nothing like Eric Northman’s. He was “abnormal” because society placed him above others; she was “abnormal” because society didn’t really even want her. Because of her little “gift” and her social class, she was the diametrical opposite of him.

She allowed resignation to fill her; it was safer than despair. In truth, she had been expecting this moment ever since Eric and she had started their relationship. After all, they’d both known all along that they were on borrowed time—that the great Appius Northman would never allow their relationship to continue once he found out about them. Sookie closed her eyes tightly to stop the tears. She and Eric had both been naïve when they lost sight of the inevitability of this moment. However, they’d been so happy that they had begun to imagine a future where they could be together.

They’d been fools.

Eric looked at Sookie’s slumping shoulders; it seemed like she would sink into the polished wooden floor at any moment—like that was exactly where she wanted to be.

He wanted to join her there, but—as his father had so eloquently put it—he had a “job to do.” Still, Eric would have refused Appius if it was just he and Sookie to be considered; however, other lives hung in the balance—too many lives.

He loved Sookie—loved her way too much to bring her further into his fucked up world where she would only meet with more pain. He knew how ruthless and empty that world could be—a den of vapid socialites and rabid social climbers.

A world where his father, the great Appius Northman, was a god that seemed to control everything.

There was nothing real in that world, but he couldn’t see a way to escape it now. And tonight, he had proven―with his inability to fight against his father’s orders and threats and requirements of him―that he was complicit in that world, even if he didn’t want to be.

No—he wasn’t simply complicit. He was worse than his father! Eric hated his world—almost as much as he now hated himself. But he was trapped in and by that world. He closed his eyes for a moment.

All he wanted to do was to reach out to Sookie, to raise her chin so that he could see her beautiful eyes, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t know how to do it without hurting her more. He’d already broken the promises he’d made to her and to himself, but he couldn’t think of a way around that now. Moreover, he didn’t want her to think that he pitied her; if anything, he pitied himself.

Deep down, Eric knew that it was best to let Sookie go. After his talk with his father, how could he not be well aware that the best place for her was away from him? Far away.

Yes. To save Sookie from his father’s plans for her, he had to let her go. In fact, he had to help her to go.

But there was more to it than that. Eric also had to let Sookie go to save her from himself. In the end—he was the one who had cowed to Appius Northman. He was the one who didn’t deserve her. What he did deserve was his own misery, and, without Sookie in his life, that torment stretched out before him like a prison sentence. Like his father, he would have only empty relationships and cut-throat business deals to look forward to.

That fate would be exactly what Appius Northman always wanted for him, but Eric didn’t care about the fact that his father was winning. All he cared about was that which he was losing: the woman standing in front of him. His heart. His hopes. His dreams. All gone.

He had been living in a fantasy with Sookie Stackhouse for the last eight months, a fantasy where Sookie was the sun lighting his bleak existence. But he now realized that her light would be extinguished if she stayed with him. And he wouldn’t have that. He could not! It was better to break her heart now—even as he ripped out his own. He just hoped her heart could mend. He knew that his own would not.

“Should I go now?” she half-asked and half-begged. Her voice was so quiet—quiet and without any kind of pitch or emotion. It was like an echo of something she was saying to herself. She continued, “I understand why you made the choice you made. And I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me—that you are trying to protect me and Pam and your grandmother and everyone else. I also know that if it weren’t for my,” she paused, “disability and my past, then this wouldn’t even be happening. I wish I could be a normal girl, Eric. I wish I could be worthy of your world.”

“You are worth so much more than this world,” Eric said passionately, finding his voice again at last.

She motioned across the room, toward where Appius was standing. He was looking at her with judgment in his eyes. Or was it amusement? She couldn’t tell.

One quick glance at his lips as he spoke to his wife and his lover confirmed their low opinion of her once more. Quickly, Sookie moved her gaze back to the floor for fear that she would “overhear” more from them.

“I know you believe in my worth, Eric,” she said, still without emotion in her voice. “But I can ‘hear’ what’s inside people—the things that they think no one else can hear.” She took a deep breath. “The only worth a man like your father will ever see in me is in how he can use my ‘disability’ to find out other people’s secrets. And I’d comply too; I’d do whatever he said so that he wouldn’t hurt you. That’s why I have to go. I’m afraid that I would fall in line with his plans for me—and for us—if I stayed.”

“Sookie,” Eric said dejectedly.

She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. For Eric, it was a sweet agony to see her love and her pain mixing there.

“Inside of you, I see so many things that I love, Eric. You’re kind; I knew that from your eyes since the first time we were standing together in this very spot.”

Eric followed her gaze to the painting on the wall. “The Four Trees,” he said.

“To answer your question, I do like this painting, even though I’m not generally much of a Monet fan,” she said, responding to the query he’d made the year before, a question she’d been too tongue-tied and nervous to answer at the time. “The trees are so straight and tall, but they still seem so,” her voice trailed off.

“Lonely,” he said, looking at the painting.

“I was going to say sad.”

Sookie looked at Appius and then back at Eric. “Your father thinks that you are ‘securing’ me as an asset even now. What will you tell him when I leave here tonight?”

“That I have secured you—that you’ve complied.”

“And when I leave New York?”

Eric stepped a little closer to her. “That I don’t blame you for going.”

“He’ll suspect you of helping me.”

“But he’ll find no proof.”

“What if he threatens Pam and your grandmother and all the others again?”

“He will threaten them,” Eric said matter-of-factly. “But I’ll claim ignorance about your disappearance nonetheless. And without proof of my involvement, I don’t think he’ll follow through with his threats as long as I do everything else he says.”

Sookie shivered a little. “Do you think he’ll try to find me?”

Eric nodded. “He’ll try. But I’ll make sure you get away without anyone knowing where you’ve gone—not even me. All my money can’t be for nothing. However, it might take a little while for Bobby to get things set up so that you can leave cleanly.”

“Cleanly,” she repeated.

Eric nodded, knowing that their separation would be anything but clean.

“Until Bobby has things ready, you’ll have to keep going into work; otherwise, Appius will suspect something is wrong. You’ll have to keep pretending for just a little while longer, Sookie,” he said penitently.

“He’ll never accept my disappearing like that. He’ll hurt you—punish you,” she said, her voice filling with sudden emotion and her eyes with sudden tears.

“No. He’ll see pain enough in me to satisfy even his appetite for my suffering,” Eric replied softly, even as he caressed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear.

Sookie looked up at him fearfully. “Eric, what about Hunter and Remy?”

“I’ll make sure that they’re okay,” he vowed. “But it’s probably best if you don’t contact them—or anyone else that you know.”

“Then—I truly will be alone,” she said quietly.

“Not alone,” he responded passionately. “Never.” His eyes told her a million things in that moment. And if she’d not known that he loved her before, she would have known it then. He was sacrificing his own freedom for the people he cared for and for her freedom. Because he loved her.

“Just lonely—like the trees?” she asked, looking back at the painting.

“Yes,” Eric said in a low, mournful voice. “Lonely.”

They stood silent for a moment.

“I know you don’t think you have any power over your father, Eric,” Sookie said, still looking at the painting. “But I know you do. I think you have miles and miles of untapped power in you. You’re a good man, Eric Northman. And you’re nothing like Appius. Nothing! And no matter what life he traps you into, you will stay a good man.”

“What if I become just like him one day?” Eric asked with terror in his voice. “Right now, I feel powerless to stop anything that he wants from happening.”

She turned to study him like he was one of the books she edited so carefully, painstakingly reading every word of him. “You won’t.”

“How do you know?” he asked almost frantically.

“I have wanted power over my own fate all my life,” she said, her voice quiet and eerie. “I would do a lot if I thought I could get it. And I know you feel the same way. But there are some things you wouldn’t do.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said, now with only love in her eyes. “You could have asked me to stay. You could have tried to convince me that using my little ‘gift’ for Appius’s benefit was a small price to pay for us being together. You could have asked me to be your mistress, as your father suggested. You could have offered to set me up in an apartment and even to father ‘little defective, freakish bastards’ with me. You could have assumed that I would have accepted those things.”

Eric almost growled at the reminder of the exact words his father had used. “I wanted to kill him, Sookie.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “But—like I said—there are some things that neither one of us would do to gain power over another. We both know—too well—what it feels like when it’s taken away.”

Eric nodded even as Sookie once again looked over his shoulder to see Appius, Sophie-Anne, and Andre. Eric didn’t have to see the expression on her face to know that they were still looking at them. He could only imagine what they were saying.

“I need to go,” she said as she looked back at him. The slight quivering of her lips told him that the poker face that she was usually so good at keeping on in public would soon fall away completely.

Eric understood well the magnitude of her words, and he was in agony. She would soon leave—and not just the museum either. She would leave Northman Publishing. She would leave New York. She would leave him.

Sookie had left her childhood home in Bon Temps because the pain of being there had been too much for her to endure. She’d trusted him with that pain and with her secrets, and now—because of him—she would be forced to leave her home again, this time in order to keep her freedom and her dignity.

But in his too-short time with her, Eric had come to understand something very important about Sookie Stackhouse: She was a survivor, a warrior. She was also stronger than he was.

So much stronger.

He knew that Sookie was going to save herself. Even then, he could tell that she was fighting against her mental demons; he could also tell that she was winning.

“One day, Sookie Stackhouse,” he said in a low, intense voice, “you’ll know that getting away from this place—from me—was the best thing that has ever happened to you. You’ll be happy, Sookie,” he said firmly, as if speaking a prayer into the universe.

He looked at the top of her head, which was once more lowered. He already had every single shade of gold in her hair memorized, but he used the moment to seal that memory into his mind forever, knowing that even a thousand years wouldn’t have been long enough to spend loving her.

“Is there anything I need to do now?” Her eyes moved from the floor to his shoes. “Should I cry? Should I yell at you and make a scene? Do we need to put on a show for our,” she paused, “audience?” She motioned almost imperceptibly toward Appius and his little cohort. “Appius told you to set me straight about my place, but I don’t know exactly what that looks like.”

Her voice was again emotionless, and, once more, Eric couldn’t speak. He was an expert in acting like he was in control, but in this situation, he didn’t have a clue about what to do.

“Do they need to see me hurting? Do they need to see me destroyed? Will that make them happy?” she asked bitterly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted in defeat. “I don’t want to have to pretend—not even for a moment.”

She looked up at him once more and graced him with a meek smile. “I’ll pretend because I love you, Eric. I’ll pretend because I trust you.”

“I don’t know how you can trust me,” he responded, closing his eyes. “Because of my selfishness to have you, Appius found out about your ability. Because of me, you have to leave New York. Because of me,” he trailed off.

“Because of you, I felt acceptance for the first time,” she said softly.

“Sookie, I,” he started, but then stopped.

“What do we do right now, Eric?” she asked softly. “Not tomorrow—but right now?”

“They will want confirmation that I’ve ‘handled’ you.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “What does that look like?”

“There are two choices,” he said gloomily. “Either you can look like you’re giving into Appius’s rules for our lives and leave here forlorn, or you can look like you’re resisting them and leave here angrily. Both scenarios would satisfy Appius’s thirst for my pain.”

“If I did the first?”

“You could go to our home, and I would follow in a couple of hours—after I have satisfied my father by fulfilling my duty here.”

“What would that duty include?”

Eric sighed. “Talking up clients. Acting like a spoiled millionaire. Flirting with women.”

“Including Nora?”

He shook his head. “Not her. No matter what he fucking says.”

“Would you have to sleep with one of the women to satisfy him?” she asked, her lower lip quivering again.

“No,” he said quickly, his tone indicating the pain inflicted by her question. He looked at her earnestly. “I swore to you that as long as we were together, I would never be with another. And I intend to keep that promise.”

“And after I leave New York?”

“After you leave New York, I will try to make a deal with Isabel so that I can keep my promise to you, Sookie.”

“Would your father agree to that?”

“If it involved marriage and kids, then yes,” Eric said. “The original contract I brokered with Appius allows for the children to be adopted.”

She took a deep breath as she thought about the implications of Eric’s words. “And if I leave the museum angry?” she asked.

“You’d have to go to Brooklyn—to Amelia’s. I’m sure Appius will have you followed, but he won’t hurt you. He’ll just make sure you don’t try to leave town before I have a chance to manipulate you into complying,” he said bitterly.

“Eric, I want all the time I can have with you. So I’m gonna go home.”

“To our home?” he asked tentatively.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, even though he knew that every second with her would only add to his agony later on—once she left New York.

“Okay—then I just need to act like what? Sad and then accepting? I can do that,” she smiled ruefully. “At least, that’s how I really feel.”

His voice cracked, “I wish. . . .”

“No,” she responded immediately, “wishing isn’t a real thing. Don’t do it,” her voice broke but was stronger than she felt.

She chastised her own hypocrisy. In truth, she had wished for so many things regarding Eric and herself. Mostly—right then—she wished that they were both “normal.”

Just Sookie. Just Eric. Just normal. And free.

“Wishing isn’t a real thing,” she repeated more quietly, again like an echo from somewhere deep within her. “Don’t do it.”

“What can I do?” He wanted to reach out for her. The mixture of resignation and strength flowing from her broke his heart. He too felt resigned to the fate that had been dealt for them, but he couldn’t feel any strength.

Two large, hot tears flowed down her left cheek.

“I’ll love you my whole life,” she vowed. “I won’t be able to help myself.”

Eric’s mind was suddenly ablaze with fear that he’d never see her again, and that fear fueled him. “You’ll be waiting for me when I get home? You won’t try to leave New York tonight?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said in an angst-ridden tone. “But I will have to go soon. If I stay, then none of what we feel right now will survive.”

His relief was immediate. “I know. But tonight and tomorrow, Sookie. I’m living for those right now.”

Sookie closed her eyes and squared her shoulders a little, “So am I. But for the first time in my life, I want to fight for me too. I need to fight for me. You taught me that. You taught me that I deserve to be happy. That’s why I have to go,” she looked at him almost pleadingly.

“I know,” he said.

“How long will it take Bobby?” she asked, knowing that Eric would task his trusted friend with figuring out a way to help her escape from Appius’s clutches.

“One week?” he requested with begging eyes.

“Okay,” she responded. “One week.”

His voice straining, he whispered, “I wish I could leave New York with you.”

“Me too,” she responded.

“But my father would hunt for us relentlessly if I did. And he’d destroy Pam and my grandmother and the others too—just to punish me.”

“I know.”

They stood there for a moment, silent and trying not to wish for things that could never be.

“I love you, Sookie,” he whispered, finally saying out loud what he’d felt for a year.

The gravity of his words was immediate and immeasurable. From the time that Eric was five years old, Appius had been a master at taking away everything that he loved, so—out of fear—Eric had long ago stopped saying that he loved anything out loud.

Now that he was saying the words, it meant that he knew that she was already lost to him.

She could see the tears brimming in his eyes, though they refused to fall.

Sookie had imagined Eric telling her that he loved her a thousand times even though she had always known that those three little words—thrown around so cavalierly in the world—would be the harbinger of “good-bye.”

Still—the words were the most beautiful she’d ever heard.

“I love you so goddamned much,” he reiterated.

She smiled a little. “That’s a very good thing.” Her lips dipped into a frown. “I just wish love were enough to beat back the devil.”

“I know,” he said. “But for just one more week, I want to pretend that it is. At least it will be a real pretense.”

“One more week in our bubble?” she asked, her slight smile returning.

“One more,” he said, glancing back at the painting next to them. He felt the distance between the trees profoundly.

Two more thick tears fell from Sookie’s eyes.

“I’ll see you at home, Eric” she said as she turned and walked away, not bothering to hide her tears anymore. They would help to create the ‘right’ effect anyway.

Sookie made herself keep walking. Her heart was breaking, but she was determined to play the part she had to play if she was to maintain her freedom.

As she passed out of the gallery door, she passed Pam and Nora walking into it. Nora simply glared at Sookie, but Pam’s eyes held questions and sympathy. Neither of them tried to speak to Sookie, and she was glad about that as she walked all the way down the long hallway to the elevators, her borrowed $3,200.00 heels clacking on the floor. She pushed the button for the elevator that Eric and she had first gotten into a year before. It seemed appropriate that she would use that one.

She kept her eyes on her shoes as the elevator descended. She’d have to make sure Pam got them back before she left New York. As she’d done the year before, she walked alone to the coat-stand, but this year, Ben already had her coat and purse ready for her. She slipped on the cranberry coat, which had been a gift from Eric.”

“Would you like for me to call your driver for you?” Ben asked softly.

“No thanks,” she responded, a fake smile in place. “The driver will be waiting for Mr. Northman.”

Ben nodded. He had known that something wasn’t right when Sookie had left the control center of the MET earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to ask for an explanation from the clearly upset woman.

“Milos will drive you then,” Ben urged gently.

Sookie squeezed Ben’s hand and gave him a little smile. “Thanks, Ben, but there’s a reason why I need to take the subway tonight.” Without letting him say another word, she quickly made her way to one of the front doors of the massive museum, glad that she didn’t recognize either of the two guards at it.

The January air was cold, but Sookie didn’t feel it. Thankful that she always carried her MetroCard since she didn’t have enough cash for a taxi, she turned and headed toward the nearest subway station, which was only three blocks away.

About half a block from the museum, she subtly glanced over her shoulder. As expected, she was being followed by a large man that she’d seen before—Sigebert. Knowing that he was trailing her to make sure that she didn’t try to escape Appius’s clutches, she kept walking in the night, wishing that her new shadow would have at least had the decency to spring for cab fare.


	2. Retreat

Chapter 2: Retreat

January 15, 2011

As she always did, Sookie Stackhouse tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. She was good at not being noticed. After all, as a defense mechanism, she had been perfecting the art of being invisible for almost her entire life. And her looks, which were nondescript at first glance, didn’t do much to make her stand out. Thankfully, most people’s eyes didn’t linger on her long enough to take a second look.

Unfortunately, Sookie’s clothing did make her stand out—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’d arrived in New York just ten days before with only one suitcase—a small one—to her name, and she was wearing the very best garment that had been in that suitcase; however, when she took in the people around her, she felt utterly inadequate. Other than herself, every woman at the Northman Publishing party looked to be dressed in garments that they’d picked straight off of the runways of European cities she’d never be able to afford to go to—let alone buy dresses in. 

She knew exactly how much her own dress had cost her―nothing. It had been given to her six years before as a hand-me-down from Tara, who’d been her friend at the time. Of course, that was the week before Tara had gotten angry at Sookie at their graduation. She’d terminated their friendship in a very dramatic fashion: by screaming at her on Gran’s porch, even as she dumped over the small graduation cake that Gran had baked for the girls. 

Even before then, Tara hadn’t been what most people would have called a consistent friend, but she’d been one of only two Sookie had had—the other being Tara’s cousin, Lafayette, who was himself an outcast at their school since he’d been openly gay in a very conservative town. 

Sookie sighed. At least, Tara hadn’t asked for the dress back before she stormed off the porch, demanding that Lafayette take her home.

Sookie was thankful for the fact that Lafayette had remained her friend following the incident. He’d moved to California the summer before Sookie had gone to college, but they still exchanged a few emails and occasionally spoke on the phone, and Lafayette always made Sookie smile when they did talk. She looked forward to those conversations very much, but—afraid of being a burden to her busy friend—she never initiated them. 

Lafayette had once told Sookie that every girl needed a little black dress―or, as he’d called it, an “LBD.” He’d followed that up by telling her that he had several in his own closet. She smiled at the thought of her flamboyant friend, who earned his living as a Drag Queen in Los Angeles. 

However, Sookie hadn’t had many opportunities to use her LBD. She’d worn it on her first date with Bill Compton, but since he’d never taken her out again―preferring to stay in and watch movies or television―she’d not had an opportunity to wear it again for pleasure. 

The second time she’d worn it had been less than two week before—to the funeral of Dr. Horus Dekker, her academic adviser at the University of Mississippi. He’d fallen victim to a drunk driver on Christmas Eve. 

When Sookie was a freshman at Ole Miss, Dr. Dekker gave her a job as a copy editor for the Daily Mississippian, the college’s prestigious newspaper. That job helped her to earn her undergraduate degree without having to take out student loans for her room and board. Moreover, he’d overlooked her peculiarity and had been instrumental in her getting into the graduate program at Ole Miss, even though she’d found it impossible to secure the requisite number of recommendation letters from other professors. It wasn’t that she’d been a poor student—far from it. It was just that she hadn’t been memorable to her teachers. But Dr. Dekker had argued on her behalf, and he’d even helped her to get an extra part-time job as a copy editor at the town newspaper in Oxford, Mississippi, so that she could afford to move off-campus. 

Dr. Dekker’s help had been surprising to Sookie, given the fact that they hadn’t actually interacted that much. However, the professor oversaw the Daily Mississippian, and he had recognized the quality of her work. Most of the time, he even let her complete her work after normal business hours and on the weekends. It had been the perfect job for Sookie, made even more perfect because she was able to complete it alone. After she got her B.A. degree in English, Dr. Dekker arranged for her to have a scholarship paying for her M.A. degree—in exchange for Sookie copy editing the online version of the Daily Mississippian until she was done with her course work. That job had been even better for Sookie, for she’d been able to do it all via the Internet. 

Dr. Dekker’s sudden death had shaken Sookie. Tara’s hand-me-down black dress had been the only appropriate black garment she’d had, so she bought a pair of black flats, which were on sale for $5.99 at Payless Shoes, and went to pay her last respects to Dr. Dekker, even though she’d never exchanged more than three personal words with him. 

Ironically, the dress that she was wearing had been appropriate for the funeral as well as for her first and only real date; however, it seemed grossly inadequate for the annual Northman Publishing party. 

Sookie had been hired at Northman Publishing—or NP as it was referred to in the industry—only twelve days before. She’d gotten hired after only a phone interview with Sam Merlotte, who managed the copy editors at NP. She wanted to believe that it was her skill that had gotten her the job, but she knew it was Dr. Dekker who had been responsible. 

Dr. Dekker and pity. 

Sam Merlotte’s alma mater was the University of Mississippi too, and Horus Dekker had been his mentor fifteen years before. But Sookie didn’t really care why Mr. Merlotte had hired her. All that she cared about was that his offering her a job had meant that she could leave Oxford, Mississippi behind. 

As she pretended to study Monet’s famous painting, Haystacks, she thought about the many ways her life had changed so quickly. A month before, she’d been a graduate student, balancing her time between working on her course papers, meeting deadlines for her copy editing jobs, and spending time with Bill. But on December 22, all that had changed when she got a visit from Lorena Krasiki. It was not a social call, and the more Lorena had said, the more Sookie’s world had come crashing down. 

Immediately after Lorena had gone, Sookie did something out of character for her: she reached out for help, emailing Dr. Dekker to see if it would be possible for her to finish her Master’s Degree from somewhere else since she had only her Thesis left to write. Thankfully, she didn’t have to quit her job at the Daily Mississippian. Since she’d finished her course work the week prior to her encounter with Lorena, she was no longer responsible for copy editing that publication. 

She’d also asked Dr. Dekker if he had any contacts that might be looking to hire copy editors—preferably out of the Mississippi and Louisiana area. She’d said only that she needed to leave town for personal reasons, and—to her great relief—Dr. Dekker hadn’t asked any questions. 

On the contrary, he’d been supportive again, calling her only minutes after she’d sent the email. He told her that it wouldn’t be a problem for her to write her Thesis from elsewhere. In fact, he reported, many students did that. All she would have to do was to submit her work by the May 1st deadline and return to Oxford in mid-May to defend her Thesis. 

After that, things had moved very quickly. As it turned out, Dr. Dekker did have a job contact for her, Sam Merlotte with Northman Publishing in New York City. As an avid reader, Sookie knew of the company, of course, and the prospect of copy editing books instead of newspapers was an exciting one—even though the idea of moving to New York intimidated her. According to Dr. Dekker, Mr. Merlotte and he spoke each year around Christmas time, and they’d had their annual conversation just the evening before. Mr. Merlotte had lamented that his best copy editor had given his notice that day. And, apparently, Mr. Merlotte hated having to go through the process of interviewing people.

By the next day, Dr. Dekker had recommended Sookie to Mr. Merlotte, she had filled out an online application, and a phone interview had been set up between Sookie and Sam for after the Christmas holiday. 

Sadly, Dr. Dekker had died only the day after that—on Christmas Eve when he’d been out doing some last-minute shopping for his children. 

Sookie had gone to Dr. Dekker’s funeral on December 27, the same day as her phone interview with Mr. Merlotte. As a close friend of Dr. Dekker, Mr. Merlotte had, of course, known about the professor’s death, and the interview turned into a thirty minute conversation about their mentor—with Mr. Merlotte doing most of the talking. 

However, by the end of the call, Sookie had a new job. Mr. Merlotte had even given her the contact information for one of his wife’s friends, who had a room for rent in her Brooklyn home. One phone call later, and Sookie had a place to live. 

Sookie packed her meager belongings quickly. Her apartment had come furnished, so she just had her suitcase—her one suitcase—with her sparse wardrobe and a couple of small, framed photos. Even her laptop had been borrowed from the university. Luckily, Gran had given her a small external hard drive the previous Christmas, and she already had all of her college papers and research saved on it. Her backpack was able to hold the few books she actually owned. In fact, it had taken Sookie longer to return all of the books that she had borrowed from both the college and city libraries than it had for her to pack everything she owned.

After packing, she called the newspaper in Oxford, and—since they had many other copy editors on staff and she was only part-time anyway—her boss didn’t have a problem letting her go without notice. So on December 28, Sookie got on a bus from Oxford, Mississippi to Bon Temps, Louisiana, where she spent a little time with Gran. Two days later, she was on a plane to New York. She’d barely had a chance to familiarize herself with the subway system before beginning at Northman Publishing on Monday, January 3.

Barely in New York for a week, Sookie already loved the city—mostly because she could be completely anonymous in it. She could blend in easily.

Usually.

Looking around at the exquisitely dressed people around her, however, Sookie knew she didn’t blend in. She was already working hard to avoid Arlene Fowler, one of her fellow copy editors. Arlene had seen her earlier and had practically sneered out loud upon taking a look at Sookie’s dress. Sookie took a deep breath, wishing that her jersey dress didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. It was faded from the many washings Tara had given it, and it was a bit loose as well, the fabric well-worn and having been made for comfort more than fashion. Plus, Tara and she had different proportions.

But it was all Sookie had, and Mr. Merlotte made it very clear to her that the party was not optional, and she certainly didn’t want to rock the boat any more than she already had. She had contemplated wearing one of the two suits that she wore to the office every day—suits that she’d purchased at the Goodwill store in Brooklyn the day before she’d started at NP. However, neither of those garments would have been appropriate for a cocktail party, and she was already made fun of by Arlene and the other women in her office since the suits had clearly seen better days. Of course, no one ever said anything within her earshot, but she could still “hear” them.

But her ticket to New York, her deposit for the room she was renting, and her MetroCard had taken almost every penny she had in her savings account. In fact, she wasn’t exactly certain how she would be able to afford to eat until the first of February. Thankfully, the person from whom she’d rented her room seemed quite well off and was extremely generous, and Amelia was more than happy to let Sookie cook for them both using the ample food in her refrigerator. However, Amelia was gone a lot, and Sookie didn’t feel right about taking any food when she wasn’t also preparing it for her housemate. Luckily, generic cereal and Ramen noodles were cheap—even in New York—and there was a reasonably priced fruit stand down the street as well, and the owner sold the bruised fruit really cheap, so it was within her limited budget—barely. Of course, anything beyond those staples, including milk, would have to wait for her first real paycheck, but that check would be a lot more money than she was used to.

When she got that check, she would be able to afford her rent and meals that went well beyond Top Ramen. She’d even be able to get a mobile phone and to put aside a little money each month for a clothing budget. Luckily, a lap top had been provided as part of her job, and Amelia already had WiFi. However, Sookie knew better than to squander any money she got. Plus, she hoped that she would be able to send a little to Gran each month, and she was planning to put as much as she could into a savings account. 

Sookie’s musings about money were put to the side when she saw Pamela Northman enter the room. While Mr. Merlotte was the manager of the copy editors, Ms. Northman was the head of the whole editing department. Plus, she was one of the children of the company’s owner, Appius Northman. Sookie breathed a sigh of relief as Ms. Northman looked around—as if searching for someone in particular—and then turned and left the gallery Sookie was in.

Sookie neither wanted to know nor did she care about the inner dynamics of Northman Publishing beyond her own job, but it was impossible to miss the fact that the gossip in the office swirled around Appius Northman and his children, three of whom worked at the huge publishing house. While Pam was the manager of the editing department, Nora Gainesborough, Appius’s stepdaughter, was the CFO of the company. With her little “handicap,” Sookie had heard that Pamela Northman—or Pam as she was called by Sam—was sort of like Miranda Priestly from The Devil Loves Prada; however, it seemed that Nora was more like the devil himself. 

According to the main gossipers in Sookie’s department—who included Arlene, Dawn Green, and Maudette Pickens—Nora was apt to yell at people in her department for no reason whatsoever and had fired quite a few of her staff during her time at Northman Publishing.

However, the main gossip in the company was centered on Appius’s eldest son, Eric Northman. Sookie had yet to see Eric since the copy editors were relegated to one of the lower floors in Northman Tower, but—using her “quirk”—she’d certainly picked up quite a bit of information on him. It was said that he was handsome; “Adonis” was the word most often used to describe him. Confusingly, he was called both “aloof” and “charming,” as well as “haughty” and “congenial.” And, apparently, he was quite the lady’s man. In fact, Dawn liked to crow about the fact that she’d experienced the great Eric Northman once. 

If Dawn was to be believed, Eric had been riding in the same elevator as she was, and between the fifth floor—where Dawn had gotten onto the elevator—and the third floor, he’d successfully talked her into going back up to one of the three apartments on the top floors of Northman Tower. It didn’t seem like Dawn would have taken much convincing. Sookie had read enough from Dawn’s lips to know that Eric was “skilled in the fucking department” and “hung like a stallion.”

But Eric Northman was also clearly respected at the company, apparently just as skilled in business as he was in bed. It was rumored that Appius was hard on Eric, but the son—even at the age of 29—was spoken of with a lot of admiration. For one thing—according to the gossip—he was good at putting out Nora’s fires. 

Eric’s official title was Deputy CEO, and he was the heir apparent to Northman Publishing, but Sookie wasn’t really interested in that. As long as the company was sound and she got to keep her job, she would be happy.

“Susan,” Sam Merlotte said congenially from behind her. 

Sookie spun around with a practiced smile on her face. “Hello, Mr. Merlotte,” she said as she noticed the lovely woman on his arm. 

“This is my wife Luna,” Sam introduced the Latina.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Merlotte,” Sookie said. 

“It’s Ms. Garza, actually,” Luna corrected pleasantly. “But you should call me Luna.”

Sookie smiled in agreement, though her palms were clammy from her nervousness. If there was one thing she hated, it was a social situation. “Thanks for passing along the information that Amelia was looking for a renter,” Sookie said, glad that she had a topic to mention. 

Luna smiled, “I’m happy that it worked out.”

“Me too,” Sookie answered, realizing that she’d already run out of things to say. 

“Are you having fun?” Sam asked, somewhat awkwardly. Sookie noticed that he was wearing a nicer suit than he normally did, and Luna looked very elegant in her charcoal gray cocktail dress.

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Merlotte,” Sookie lied, keeping her smile firmly planted on her face.

“Sam,” he corrected as he’d been doing the entire first week she’d been working at NP.

“Okay,” Sookie said.

“Well, be sure to get a drink and look around a bit. The Northman Galleries here at the MET are certainly quite something. Have a great time, Susan.”

Sookie nodded and was grateful when Sam and Luna moved on. She hated the name Susan, but when Sam had assumed that was what she went by during their phone interview, she hadn’t corrected him. After all, his assumption made sense. Her legal name was Susanna, and most people called her either that or Susan. Her nickname, Sookie, wasn’t something many people knew. 

Once Sookie was by herself again, she tried to stay behind groups—to see, but not be seen. And she also took the opportunity to really look at the paintings in the gallery that she was in. To say that Sookie was overwhelmed by the Metropolitan Museum of Art was an understatement. Unless the paint-by-number landscapes that decorated her childhood residence were counted, she’d not seen much art in person, and the Monet paintings in the gallery that she was in were some of the most studied and important works of art—ever. 

Sookie had learned that the Northman Publishing beginning of the year party always took place on the second Saturday in January. In addition to the employees of Northman Publishing being in attendance at that party, other important New Yorkers, especially those in the publishing business, were invited. The party was held mainly in the Northman Galleries, which were composed of ten galleries in the European art wing of the MET. Using her skill, Sookie had already picked up on the fact that several of the pieces in the galleries had been donated by the Northmans, thus earning the family the right to have a section of the European paintings wing named for them.

The yearly party thrown by the Northmans was one of the only ones allowed to take place within the MET’s art galleries, and Sookie was floored by the fact that people were carrying around cocktails in the same rooms that housed priceless works of art. However, the Northman family had the kind of wealth that got them things normal people just didn’t get. Sookie had picked up on the fact that large, yearly donations to the MET enabled Appius Northman to do pretty much whatever he wanted, which meant that he could throw his party wherever he wanted it to be thrown. 

In truth, Sookie could hardly fathom the kind of wealth the Northmans had, but she did like the art that she had seen in the galleries she had wandered through. Many of the paintings captivated her with their energy and texture, and she vowed right then and there to pick up one of the brochures that she’d seen about yearly memberships to the MET. There were so many galleries in the huge museum that Sookie knew that it would take someone years to get through them all, and she figured that—since she wouldn’t have a social life to eat up her pay check—a yearly pass to the MET might be an acceptable luxury item and a way to fill her weekends, especially once she was done writing her Thesis. 

She let her eyes move slowly around the gallery she was in, only stopping their progress when they reached one of the corners of the room, right between Monet’s Water Lilies and one of the several doors in the gallery. There, Sookie saw a man who seemed to belong more in a Greek statuary rather than the Monet room.

The man was tall and blond, dressed impeccably in a black suit. His hair looked a shade or two darker than hers—probably because it was slicked back with gel. The most amazing thing about the man was that—although he was the most captivating thing in the room—only she seemed to be noticing him at that moment. The room was full of milling people, but the man was somehow separate from everyone else—as if he had separated himself.

“Adonis,” she said to herself.

Though Sookie couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, she was pretty sure that her eyes had landed on Eric Northman. And he was as handsome as everyone said; no—handsome wasn’t the right word. He was striking. But what struck her the most was not his looks; it was the way he was looking. 

His blues eyes drew patterns around the room that reminded Sookie of the way she would study a space. 

He seemed to be testing the gallery for danger, gauging it like a military veteran would scrutinize a space for traps and mines and ambushes. When his captivating blue eyes swept in her direction, however, Sookie moved her gaze to the corner of the room opposite from Eric’s corner. That corner was empty.

Something inside of her shook a little as she tore her eyes from that blank corner. Her every instinct—every desire—was to look back at Eric Northman, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She couldn’t because she was almost certain that he would be looking at her. She didn’t want his piercing blue eyes to penetrate her, for she feared them finding her lacking. 

So she made her feet move her out of the gallery she’d been in, Gallery 819.


	3. Ships Pass

[A/N: Hello! Thanks for reading! Some of you likely wonder why Sookie would feel that the skill of lip-reading was a bad thing. I certainly didn’t mean to insinuate that the ability to read lips would make someone “defective” or a “freak.” I truly hope that I didn’t offend anyone. I have deaf friends with the skill, and being offensive to them or anyone else was certainly not my aim.

Sookie’s feeling about that skill has its foundation in “how” she developed it, which has yet to be revealed. Also, some might see “supernatural Sookie’s” telepathy as a gift, but she finds it a curse because it causes her—among other things—to know information that she would rather not know—ugly things about people and humanity. However, it also protects her at times. The Sookie in this story knows similar negative things because of her ability to lip-read. While not, perhaps, aware of people’s thoughts, this Sookie “hears” things she would rather not. I hope that this explanation begins to give you some insight into Sookie’s attitude toward her skill. I am aware that many people can read lips—and for many reasons. All the mysteries around why Eric and Sookie are the way they are in this story will—hopefully—be satisfactorily unraveled as I move through the narrative. Thank you to everyone willing to travel through that narrative with me.]

 

Chapter 3: Ships Pass

Eric Northman felt the suffocating constriction of falseness closing in around him—hugging him. Everywhere he looked, there was a pair of fake breasts or an insincere smile or a handshake being shared between enemies. Not for the first time, Eric wondered if there was anything real about the world in which he lived.

He knew for certain that he was not real. And—in truth—it was the “real” that frightened him more than anything else. The “real” could be taken from him. Had been taken. The “real” would hurt him.

He’d learned during his almost 29 years that the only safety to be had was found in detachment and distance. So he stayed at arm’s length from everyone—including any “self” that tried to form within him. He counted himself lucky that he had very long arms. 

The world he lived in was about only two things: wealth and power. And as he looked around Gallery 800, he saw that most of the people there were either parading around what they already had or trying to get more. What he didn’t see was anyone looking happy. Everyone was too busy pretending or scheming or networking or weaseling. 

Hoping to find some respite, Eric slipped out of the larger gallery into a smaller one. 

He sighed heavily. Despite the fact that he craved a break from his world, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that he was any better off than the other party-goers. He was just as fake; hell, his whole “social persona” was a careful construct. He’d spent the better part of the evening “socializing” with people he didn’t like—all while he used his natural charm and intelligence to get what he wanted from them: a new business deal, a promise of service to be rendered, the mobile phone number of the nameless socialite he intended to fuck after the party. 

As always, however, his greatest performance was in pretending to be the beloved son of Appius Northman—when he was anything but loved by his father. 

Hating everything about himself in that moment, Eric decided to regroup, so he took up a defensive position in the corner of Gallery 819, which was one of the Monet galleries. He made a quick assessment and saw only middle managers and support staff from Northman Publishing. 

He sighed with relief, knowing that his father would never linger in a room unless someone inside of it was making it worth his while, and there was no one in the gallery who fit that bill. Of course, Eric’s presence alone wouldn’t be enough of a draw for Appius, especially since the elder Northman had already given Eric his customary castigation for the evening. 

So Eric watched from the corner of the gallery. He’d learned—during his four years at NP—how to fill and dominate a room when needed, and he’d become good at it even though it didn’t come naturally to him. In fact, being larger than life and exuding confidence were merely two parts of the character that he “acted” for public consumption. 

However, he felt more comfortable keeping out of the spotlight, and he was good at going unseen when he wanted. After all, he’d spent the first twenty-five years of his life keeping to the shadows. It was—decidedly—safer there. 

Eric looked around the room in the methodical way which had become his habit, sweeping it like he was looking for landmines. But there was no one in that room that could hurt him, so he relaxed a little. 

As soon as he did, he saw gold—saw her.

He didn’t even see the her from the front. And since she was on the other side of the gallery and there were people milling between them, he didn’t see her well either. Her back was to him, and she was studying one of the Monets that he didn’t care for, though his least favorite was the much fawned-over Haystacks, which his father liked to brag about donating to the MET.

What caught his attention about the woman was her hair. It looked like spun gold, but it had way too many hues to be out of a bottle. Eric let his eyes trail down the part of the girl’s body he could see and was happy when he discerned some actual curves there. 

However, even though Eric tried to order her with his mind, the girl didn’t turn around to give him a look at her face. Instead, she left the gallery. 

 

Sookie made her way from Gallery 819 to Gallery 800, even as she felt the probing eyes of Eric Northman trailing her. However, the last thing that she wanted to do was to come to the attention of any of the high-ups in the company. She worried that if any of them looked too hard at her résumé, they would determine that a mistake had been made in hiring her. 

Even worse, she feared what kind of look she’d get from a man like Eric Northman. 

Would he look at her with pity or scorn? Would he look at her like she was defective? With disgust? With indifference? Those were the looks that most everyone gave her after a while. Even Gran found it impossible to keep the pity from her eyes much of the time.

And for some reason, the way that Eric Northman—if that was, indeed, the man she’d seen—looked at her mattered to Sookie. She’d seen the intelligence and the self-preservation that had guided his blue eyes around the gallery. His were eyes that would be able to read her own defenses and deficiencies easily, and she didn’t know if she could take someone truly seeing her—not now. Not so close to the time that Bill’s duplicity had crushed what little self-confidence she’d been building over the last several years while she’d been in college. 

However, to escape the proverbial lion’s den—the gaze of Eric Northman—she had stepped into the fire. 

Immediately upon entering Gallery 800—which was very long, though not much wider than the room she’d just come from—Sookie caught the eye of Arlene, the redhead who was pretty much the “Queen Bee” of the copy editors. And like good drones, Dawn and Maudette were right next to her. Despite the nasty looks on their faces, Sookie had to admit that all three women looked good in their cocktail dresses. All of their dresses were black, which was the most common color of the garments at the party, and they were also all much more appropriate for the occasion than Sookie’s faded dress. 

Though Sookie had been at NP for only a week, she’d already been labeled a “freak” and a “weirdo” by Arlene and her cohort. And because of the redhead’s influence and Sookie’s own ingrained self-doubt, the blonde hadn’t made any friends in her department—not that she’d ever been good at making friends. 

At first, Sookie had been hopeful that things would be different in New York where not a soul knew her, but she’d quickly realized that her hope had been nothing but a pipe dream. 

So at the office, Sookie had quickly developed a strategy. She tried to keep her head down—to keep focused on her work and to do a good job. But sometimes she caught herself watching the people around her in a similar way to how Eric had been watching the people in the gallery. Out of deep-rooted habit, she watched others as a defense mechanism and with the hope that doing so would give her the knowledge that she needed to survive. Sadly, she was not nearly as good as Eric at being inconspicuous when she became lost in her watching; thus, her predilection to “stare like some retard,” which was how Maudette had so charitably put it, had certainly done nothing to prompt the others in the office to befriend her.

Sookie saw Arlene’s lips move to tell her followers to take a look at “what the cat had dragged in.” And Sookie was immediately being scanned from head to toe by all three women. For her part, Sookie had already looked away slightly. She could still see the little group in her periphery—her perfect peripheral vision good at targeting what she didn’t want others to know she was looking at. Sookie—again for the sake of self-preservation—had, through much practice, mastered this kind of half-looking.

It was Dawn who spoke first. “Do you see what she’s wearing?”

“It looks like it came off the rack at Wal-Mart. The clearance rack. A decade ago,” Arlene chortled in the way that only a true gossip could do. 

The women continued their insults, but Sookie was able to detach herself from those. Insults—she was used to.

Instead, she tried to focus on one of the many bronze sculptures in the long room as she slowly moved farther away from the women. Unfortunately—or fortunately in this case—Sookie could still see the women’s lips moving, so she could still “hear” them speaking.

“If Pam sees her, she’ll likely be fired on the spot just for shaming the company,” Maudette giggled.

“Or—even better—Nora could see her,” Dawn returned. 

“Good idea,” Arlene commented. “Susan’s so damned weird that it’d be better not to be forced to work with her every day. I still don’t know why Sam hired such a retard.”

“I heard that she blew him for the job,” Dawn said conspiratorially.

Sookie could tell that Dawn had whispered her words, barely moving her lips, but the blonde could still understand everything she had said. 

Sookie tried not to show any reaction as all three women studied and judged her like predators. Sookie had been looked at like that before. Arlene and her cronies were the kind of people that cultivated the position of Alpha so that they would feel better about themselves; thus, they needed someone weaker to beat down—someone like her.

Being the target of a bully was not new for Sookie. After all, she’d been bullied by the master—her own mother—for most of her life. 

“I see Pam and Nora at the other end of the gallery. Let’s ‘help out’ our new co-worker by introducing little Susan to the big, bad wolves,” Dawn said sarcastically. 

Arlene cackled pitilessly. “Oh yes—that would be fun.”

Quickly, though subtly, Sookie looked toward the opposite end of the long room and did—indeed—see Pam there. She was standing with a beautiful brunette woman, who had a scowl on her face and a drink practically tipping from her hand. Obviously Nora.

Immediately, Sookie knew two things. First, there was no way in hell that she wanted to be introduced to them. Second, since Sam had seen her there already, she could safely escape the party early, hopefully without getting into any trouble. 

After all, it wasn’t as if anyone would care if she was gone. No one ever had before. 

Luckily, she was closer to the large door at the end of the room than Arlene, Dawn, and Maudette were, so Sookie—as inconspicuously as she could—began moving toward it.

She thanked her lucky stars that she made it out of the room without the other women getting to her first. There were restrooms right beyond the door, and Sookie hoped that Arlene and her little “court” would think that she was going there. 

But that wasn’t where she was going. 

Finding herself alone in the long hallway, Sookie practically ran to the nearest elevator and quickly punched the button to call the conveyance. She thanked God when the metal doors opened immediately so that she could move inside of the box. Luckily, the elevator was empty and the doors closed quickly behind her.

Out of immediate danger, Sookie took a deep breath and looked at her image in the mirrored wall of the elevator; as expected, she saw her fears and insecurities moving onto her face. She had become good at hiding all of her emotions—never letting them come to the surface until she was safe, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t yet safe. Not really. She wouldn’t be safe until she was locked into her room for the night. 

Despite wanting to, Sookie couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from her image. She saw all her flaws magnified. She’d known that she wouldn’t belong at that party—not with so many confident and important people there. But she’d attended because she couldn’t afford to do anything to risk her job. 

She sighed heavily—shakily. She’d hoped that her new job would somehow make her new. But it hadn’t. Just as inevitably as she’d been judged as “odd” or “a misfit” by the people in her hometown and then by those in her college classes, she’d been deemed as “defective” at her new job. Already, most of the people in her department didn’t like her; even Sam, who was nice to everyone, seemed to be uncomfortable around her—perhaps because of the rumors about how she’d gotten her job.

Sookie forced her eyes to close and her skin to thicken. “You need to accept the fact that you will never fit in—not anywhere,” she said to herself, hoping that the woman in the mirror was listening too.

Sookie had already resolved to do whatever she could to keep her job. She couldn’t run back to Bon Temps, and there was no way that she’d go crawling back to Bill. No. She would just have to suck it up and try harder to make herself invisible. 

Realizing that she had forgotten to press the button to go down, she opened her eyes, but kept them on the button pad. When the elevator doors opened, she hurried out of the conveyance and toward the main entrance of the museum. As she waited for the attendant to bring her the only coat that she owned, she kept her promise to herself and picked up a few of the free brochures at the desk.

“Making an early night of it, Miss?” a kind-eyed guard asked as she put on her threadbare and too-small coat.

She nodded at the man as she stuffed the brochures into her pockets. She didn’t really know how to operate when strangers were kind to her. She glanced at the guard’s nametag and read, “Ben.” It was a nice name for an obviously nice man, but “nice” was difficult for her to deal with. It always had been. 

She took a deep breath to steady herself. What she needed was to be alone in her room so that she could decompress from the anxiety-filled night.

“Can I hail a taxi for you, Miss, or call your driver?” Ben asked.

“No thank you,” Sookie managed as she moved to go out into the bitter night. January in New York was much colder than anything she’d ever experienced, but Sookie welcomed the frigid temperature, compared to the discomfort she’d felt at the party. She turned up the street and began walking toward the subway station. 

 

Eric was still contemplating the golden hair of the blonde he’d seen earlier when his sister, Pam, and his stepsister, Nora, entered Gallery 819. Eric could tell immediately that Nora was drunk.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

Pam had a fake smile on her face as she led Nora over to Eric. His sister’s eyes were screaming at him for help.

“Oh, Eric,” Nora purred as she ran a finger down his lapel. “You look good enough to eat. It’s such a pity that you and I didn’t work out.”

Eric cringed a little bit as he thought about his and his stepsister’s ill-fated attempt at sex less than a year before. It was not a memory his enjoyed recalling.

“Shhh,” Eric ordered Nora softly as he put his arm around her swaying body.

“Roman kept bringing her liquor,” Pam hissed. “And I’m afraid we’ll have a repeat of last year if we don’t step in.”

Eric nodded. Last year had consisted of Nora getting drunk to the point that she loudly propositioned Copley Carmichael, one of Appius Northman’s oldest associates. The fact that Copley was old enough to be Nora’s father wasn’t the problem. May-December marriages were not uncommon among the elite of New York society. Hell—his own father was almost four decades older than his current stepmother! 

The problem was that Copley had been a widower for less than a month at the time of last January’s party. Even worse, Nora hadn’t dropped the matter, although Copley was clearly uninterested and obviously upset by Nora’s behavior. It had taken Eric stepping in to remove Nora, who had—by the time—draped herself all over the clearly uncomfortable widower like a fucking fungus. Eric would never forget the look of horror and anguish on Copley’s face when Nora had promised—in an inappropriately loud voice—that she could help him “to forget all about his dead wife.”

As far as Eric knew, Copley hadn’t spoken to Appius since then—despite the fact that one of Copley’s real estate developments was partly owned by Appius. 

“Goddamned Roman,” Eric muttered of his stepsister’s newest paramour. Nora’s men generally lasted about a month before they’d had their fill of Eric’s beautiful, though erratic, stepsister. Of course, Appius, who favored Nora well above his other children, chose to ignore her antics. Still, Eric couldn’t help but to feel sorry for Nora. Her predisposition was to cope with the emptiness in her own life by drinking until she felt full, and people like Roman were certainly not a help to her. 

“Where is Roman?” Eric whispered, now supporting more of Nora’s weight as she teetered on her four-inch heels. 

“I don’t know,” Pam answered.

“Find him and then come back here,” Eric said evenly.

“Yes—find Roman,” Nora said in an increasingly slurred, pouty, and loud voice. “He’s much more fun than either of you. Oh,” she added as if struck by an idea, “and bring me another glass of champagne—will you, Pammy?”

“Sure,” Pam humored her stepsister as she stepped out of the room through a door leading to another small gallery. Almost immediately, she stepped back in and gave Eric a significant look, which told him that she’d already spotted Roman.

Eric sighed with relief when Nora didn’t resist his leading her into the next gallery. 

The tall blonde spotted Nora’s current lover easily. The married business mogul was flirting with one of the girls from NP. Roman’s wife, as always, was in Europe somewhere, no doubt being just as promiscuous as her husband. The girl he was flirting with—whose name was Dawn or Dusk or Twilight or something along those lines—was looking at Roman with lust, and he was leaning down to whisper something to her. The woman immediately burst into fake-sounding laughter. Eric rolled his eyes. He’d had sex with the woman before, and she’d not been a bad fuck—though she’d been the kind of woman who moaned a little too loud—the entire goddamned time—for it to seem real. Eric had not sought out a repeat performance with her.

“Hello, Eric,” the woman purred as he approached with Nora.

“Do you know the captivating Miss Green?” Roman asked with a wink.

Eric’s stomach turned. “Yes. Will you excuse us?” he asked her. “Roman was just going to take Nora home,” he said, his tone allowing for no argument.

Thankfully, Roman didn’t try to disagree. Instead, he looked back at Dawn with a leer. “Would you care to join Nora and me for a nightcap, Dawn? The penthouse apartment in Northman Tower has a tremendous view.”

“Oh goody,” Nora grinned, “a party.”

Dawn looked at Eric lasciviously. “Sounds good, Roman,” she said, trying to sound seductive. “Will Eric be joining us too?”

Nora hiccupped out a laugh, but Eric gave her a harsh look so that she would keep her mouth closed.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Eric answered stiffly. He handed Nora over to Roman. “But you all have a nice evening.”

Eric watched as Roman led Dawn and a now-stumbling Nora through two smaller galleries and then into the larger one. Inconspicuously and nervously, he followed them at a distance in order to make sure they got away from the party and onto the elevator without incident. Pam, who had stayed back when Eric took Nora to Roman, joined him, and they both let out sighs of relief when the elevator doors closed. 

Eric looked around them. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed Nora’s stumbling. His stepsister—though beloved of Appius—was not well thought of by others in the publishing world, and he didn’t want anything she did to undermine NP. Plus, though Nora certainly wasn’t his favorite person, he did care about what happened to her, and he didn’t want to see her make a fool out of herself—again. Moreover, Eric knew that if she did do something asinine, he would be the one blamed for her actions—just as Appius had blamed him the previous year. 

“Did Father see her like that?” Eric asked, hoping to confirm the containment of Nora’s condition. 

Pam shook her head. “No. Since he spoke to you earlier, Father and Andre have been too busy catering to Sophie-Anne to notice much of anything.”

Eric nodded and relaxed a little. The twenty-year-old Sophie-Anne was Appius’s newest wife, and she was eight months pregnant with their first child. 

Pam cackled. “It looks like—after tonight—Dawn will have worked her way through half of the Northman children.”

Eric rolled his eyes. It was only after he’d slept with Dawn that he learned that Pam had had a short dalliance with her as well. Dawn—it seemed—was the “office bike,” so to speak. And she didn’t discriminate between the genders. 

Eric sighed. As usual, he felt a little disgusted with himself for having so little pickiness when it came to the women he fucked. However, they were a release for him—nothing more. The last thing he wanted to do was to get attached to one—not when he knew what attachments would inevitably lead to: loss. 

Oh, he knew that he’d have to eventually get married—to someone his father approved of. Eric had no illusions about how Appius saw him. To Appius, he was nothing but a hated—though necessary—studhorse, ready to be matched with someone who could increase the Northman wealth or enhance their status. At least—almost three years before—Eric had found out why his father had always despised him so much. 

Of course, knowing was only good in that it took away any hope that Eric might have had to one day earn his father’s affection. Unfortunately, that knowledge had not been liberating for the young man; it had simply stolen one of the few things he’d always held on to. 

Eric shook himself out of his unproductive thoughts and touched the card in his pants pocket. On it was the number of the beautiful raven-haired woman who had approached him earlier in the evening. He’d known what she wanted as soon as she’d walked up to him. 

She was probably 23 or 24 years old, and her expression had bespoken of her sense of entitlement. And—obviously—she felt entitled to him that night. Eric was no fool; he knew that he had a “reputation” among the daughters of the elite. They all wanted to have “a go” with him. And all of them secretly hoped to outdo their competitors and land such a prize as Appius Northman’s eldest son. But Eric still had several years before he would be forced to choose a socialite with whom to begin what would most likely be a loveless and empty marriage.

And he planned to be single and miserable—rather than married and miserable—for as long as he could. 

For the night, however, he would use the young woman, whom he now recalled had introduced herself as Freyda, Felipe de Castro’s daughter. However, she would use him as well. In New York society, it would be deemed as a “successful transaction.” Hell—he might even find her tolerable enough to take to a few social functions or charity galas if she wasn’t the clingy type.

Still—as he began to maneuver through the galleries that were housing his father’s party, he was not looking for the dark-haired beauty whom he was scheduled to fuck later that night. Eric found himself looking for a certain head of golden hair. 

Of course, he didn’t admit to himself that he was also afraid of finding the owner of that hair. What if the woman was just as fake as everyone else? Or—even more disconcerting—what if she wasn’t?

He chastised himself, wondering why he even cared about the girl at all! After all, he hadn’t even seen her properly. Likely, she was just the date or the daughter of an NP employee, and that glimpse would be all he would ever see of her. 

Eric tried to put the golden hair out of his mind and to focus on talking to everyone he was expected to talk to. He laughed at their recycled jokes and stories. He promised the appropriate people that they would “have lunch at the club soon.” However, he kept finding himself looking for gold among the wealthy. 

He found none.

After an hour of performing as he was expected to perform, Eric snuck into Gallery 823.

Although Gallery 823 and Gallery 826 were two of the Northman Galleries, they were never used for the January Northman Publishing parties since the Van Gogh paintings inside of them were impossible to insure for such a gathering. They were roped off, but the guard let Eric pass because of who he was. 

As Eric looked around the gallery, he once again saw the golden color of the woman’s hair. However, this time the hues were in a swirling field of wheat. Eric walked closer to that wheat. 

He hadn’t been to the MET often—only coming for the yearly NP party where he was required. However, each of the years that he’d attended, he’d always found himself in this particular gallery, staring at this particular painting, which had once again caught his eye—but this time for a different reason. 

Since he’d first seen the work, he’d been captivated by the thick paint, which created a scene that jumped off of the canvas with its energy. He’d always been acutely aware that the painting teemed with more life than he did. 

Generally, when Eric thought of wheat fields, he thought of vast, lonely places—miles and miles of endless crops on the flat plain—in Oklahoma maybe. But Van Gogh’s wheat field was different. There were rolling hills in the background and a thicket of trees in the middle of the crop. And on one side of the canvas, there were two cypress trees leaning into each other. One was tall and mature, while the other was much smaller. Eric had always thought about his mother when he saw the painting. 

He couldn’t remember much about his mother, Stella, since she’d died when he was only five years old; however, he could recall a woman’s smile and the smell of jasmine. He remembered her voice, telling him a story. And he remembered feeling warm—maybe even loved. 

He recalled that fleeting feeling every time he looked at the painting, which was why he always found his way to it during his visits to the museum. However, this time, he didn’t focus on the Cyprus trees as he usually did. He was studying the wheat and wondering about the woman whose hair—just like the painting—seemed to hold every shade of gold.

“Beautiful,” he whispered into the empty room.


	4. Just a Little Pin Prick

Chapter 4: Just a Little Pin Prick 

January 14, 2012 (One year after the previous chapter)

“Pam was right,” Nora said as much to herself as to Eric. “She is so fucking odd,” Nora added contemptuously as she looked over Eric’s shoulder at the blonde behind him. 

“Who?” Eric asked, though he wasn’t really interested in what Nora was saying. In truth, he was merely keeping an eye on her so that she wouldn’t get drunk. She’d done a stint at the Betty Ford Center the previous October, but after she got out, she started up her affair with Roman again. And she’d resumed drinking—though it didn’t seem in excess. 

Yet. 

Eric was just grateful that Nora was no longer taking any of the harder narcotics that had pushed him to convince her to go rehab in the first place. He sighed. Nora was prone to excessive behavior—especially when she was dating someone who had a similar personality as her own. At least, however, she was able to see that she had been losing control of her life when Eric approached her in October after she’d almost fucked up a deal Appius had been working on for months. At the time, Nora had been dating an up-and-coming male model, who was known as much for his cocaine habit as he was for his abs. Compared to him, Roman Zimojic was a saint. 

Eric was the only one who knew that Nora’s month-long “vacation” from Northman Publishing was not to a secluded resort on the Riviera, and he’d made sure that her job had been done—and done well—in her absence. Of course, Appius ‘oversaw’ Eric’s efforts during that time—and offered his requisite criticism—but the patriarch of the Northman family never questioned why Nora left for a month without notice. 

Eric sighed. He’d expected no different from his father. 

While Nora was in rehab, the model moved on quickly to another rich woman—much to Eric’s relief. Nora had returned vowing not to get involved in illicit drugs again after the kinds of horror stories she’d heard and the kinds of things she’d seen at Betty Ford. Eric hoped—for the sake of both his stepsister and the future of NP—that she would be able to keep her vow. 

So far—with the exception of a few drinks here and there—Eric could tell that his stepsister was doing okay, at least at work. She’d not made any major mistakes since she’d gotten back from rehab; in fact, she seemed to be taking her job as CFO more seriously. Her temperament also seemed to be more moderate, which was especially welcome. 

Though Nora wasn’t bad at what she did, Eric had realized pretty quickly after she came to work at Northman Publishing that she wasn’t ready to be the CFO of a company the size of NP. However, she was buffered by a good team, many of whom helped Eric to keep an eye on her. No one working under Nora would dare to take a complaint about her directly to Appius, whose affection for his stepdaughter was equal only to his love for his infant son. Thus, any issues regarding Nora were brought to Eric in confidence—outside of the walls of the office, where Appius seemed to be all-knowing. Happily, the problems had been few and far between since Nora’s time at Betty Ford.

“Eric!” Nora said loudly. “Are you even listening?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

She sighed with frustration, but spoke her next sentence more quietly. “The strange girl—the one in Pam’s division.”

“Oh,” he said, recalling that Pam had mentioned her to him before as well. “What about her?” he asked.

“She’s been staring at us for the last ten minutes—like some crazy person.” Nora gestured toward the other side of the gallery.

Eric glanced over at the girl Nora was referring to. 

His breath hitched. 

There, in almost the exact spot where he had first seen her the year before, was the girl with the hair of gold. And this time, she was looking back at him with beautiful blue eyes. 

 

As soon as Eric Northman looked at her, Sookie felt as if time had stopped, and for a moment, she was lost in their shared gaze. However, she soon recovered her wits and purposefully shifted her attention so that it was several yards to the left of Nora and Eric. She knew that they had caught her looking; hell, she’d been staring in their direction for quite some time. But she had been waiting for Eric to look at her. She had wanted to do what she’d not been able to do the year before: to look back.

Over the years, Sookie had found that if she was caught staring and looked away too quickly, she would only bring more attention to herself, and the last thing that Sookie Stackhouse generally wanted was attention. Attention always led to her being hurt—always.

But she had wanted Eric’s attention this time—even if it did hurt her. She had needed to know something, and that shared look had told her. 

Sookie continued to study Nora and Eric with her peripheral vision. She couldn’t help but to notice that they made a striking couple, and the gossip in the office was that the two of them had dated on and off for years, despite the fact that they were stepsiblings. In fact, the office gossip suggested that Nora’s month-long “vacation” had occurred because her heart had been broken when Freyda de Castro announced that she was engaged to Eric—an engagement which Eric adamantly denied in the press the very next day. The day after that, the gossip magazines had published the transcript of a “stalkerish,” rambling phone message Freyda had left for Eric, as well as several pictures of Freyda caught by surveillance cameras around the building where Eric lived and Northman Tower.

The latest rumors indicated that Eric and Nora were back together, but from what Sookie had seen, Eric’s demeanor toward his stepsister was congenial, but not particularly warm. 

Sookie couldn’t miss the fact that Eric’s sharp blue eyes had studied her for almost a minute before he turned back to his more attractive conversation partner. But those seconds had been a lot more than Sookie usually got from handsome men. Oh—who was she kidding? No man as gorgeous as Eric Northman had ever looked at Sookie for more than a second or two. 

Moreover, the word “handsome” just didn’t cut it for a man like Eric.

Around the office there was a joke about Eric Northman, and all the straight women and gay men enjoyed sharing it over and over again. Sookie didn’t mind “hearing” it repeated again and again from the lips of the people around her. After all, it was true. 

It went like this: On a scale of 1 to 10, Eric Northman would need a bigger fucking scale. 

Sookie kept her eyes focused on the spot she’d picked on the wall near Eric and the striking Nora. It was a convenient spot since it was right where the most famous Monet in the room was housed–Haystacks. Eric looked back at her and then followed her gaze to the painting as well. His lips turned downward slightly into a frown, a move Sookie barely caught because he almost had his back to her when he looked that way. However, there was a little profile, so she saw that little frown.

Sookie couldn’t help but to smile a little at his reaction. She had to agree. She didn’t like that particular painting either, but it was an expedient resting place for her eyes since she wouldn’t allow herself to focus on the most beautiful work of art in the room. And Sookie had seen a lot of art in the past year, so she could now speak with some authority on the matter.

She’d once compared Eric Northman to a Greek statue, but now she knew that there really wasn’t much comparison. She’d studied every single Greek statue in Gallery 153 and then—for good measure—she’d spent a similar day in Gallery 162, the Roman sculpture court. And Eric’s form put every single one of the statues in both of those galleries to utter shame. 

 

Eric glanced back at the young woman after seeing which painting she’d been looking at. He couldn’t help but to notice the tiny smile playing on her lips. And he had done enough stealthy watching in his time to know that the blonde was still looking at him despite the trajectory of her direct vision. 

“What do you mean odd?” Eric asked his companion, even though he wished that Nora would just disappear so that he could approach the woman, whose hair had appeared in many of his dreams during the previous year. In those dreams, he’d been trying to find her—but all he’d ever seen were glimpses of her golden hair. 

“Pam says that she never really talks to anyone—at least not beyond business.”

“Well—NP is a business, Nora,” Eric smirked. “What is she supposed to do? Gossip all day long?”

Nora shrugged. “According to Pam, she’s always staring at and studying people. Pam thinks she’s a little ‘off,’ and I agree. I mean—why else would she stare like that?”

“Well, we all know how Pam likes to blow things out of proportion,” Eric said, shrugging off his stepsister’s obvious distaste for the blonde who intrigued him so much that his heart was literally in his fucking throat.

The brunette scoffed and looked back at the girl with disdain. For her part, the blonde kept her eyes on Monet’s Haystacks. 

“I don’t think Pam is blowing things out of proportion—not after seeing her here today. Not after the weird way she was looking at us,” Nora commented. “For fuck’s sake! She’s at a party and she hasn’t even talked to anyone.”

“Well—not everyone likes parties, Nora.”

“It’s a company party at the MET!” Nora said. “And we are in the publishing business. Who doesn’t want to schmooze and booze with people that can help their careers? Anyway, Pam hates it when she has to work with the girl—Susanna, I think Pam said her name was. She says that talking to her is like pulling teeth. She’s fucking anti-social.”

“Well, why doesn’t Pam just fire her then?” Eric asked, looking back at the girl, this time trying to draw her eyes to his so he could fully see them again. 

However, the girl didn’t take the bait; if anything, her eyes moved farther from his, though he would swear that she was still looking at Nora and himself. 

“Because,” Nora replied in a hushed voice, “according to Pam, she’s the best and most efficient copy editor the company has ever seen. And her clients love her.”

“Then she can’t be that antisocial,” Eric commented keeping his eyes on Susanna and testing the name in his mind. “Susanna” didn’t seem to fit the singular creature he was looking at, nor did “Susan” or “Sue” or “Suzy” or “Anna” or any other nickname he could derive from the name. 

“She works with them via email mostly,” Nora said. 

“Well—that’s how the majority of our copy editors do things these days, Nora.”

“Well—I still think there’s something off about her,” Nora commented.

Eric shrugged. With difficulty, he turned his attention away from Susanna and began to talk to Nora about other things, though he kept an eye on her.

“Eric, I was hoping to see you here,” came Freyda’s voice from behind him. Her words and tone were meant to sound like a seductive greeting, but they made Eric’s skin crawl. 

“Strange,” Eric said, turning around to face her and trying to keep from openly cringing, “I was hoping that you wouldn’t be here.”

She sighed. “Had you just married me as your father counseled, none of that unpleasantness would have happened. Just think about it—the two biggest publishing houses in New York could have been united through us.” She brought her hand up to his lapel and flattened it on his chest, an act that clearly made Eric uncomfortable. 

He stepped back, causing her hand to drop, before stepping toward her again, this time with his hands in a defensive position—ready to bat down any more attempts she might make to touch him. 

He spoke to her in a barely audible, clipped tone. “You and I fucked exactly two times, which was one more time than the number of dates that we had. And had I known that you would become a stalker, following me to both my place of work and my home, not to mention the phone calls, I would have never fucked you in the first place. You need to get over this, Freyda.”

“Eric, what we had was precious—special,” she insisted, even as she sneered at Nora, who had stepped back a few paces.

“What we had was a total of about three hours almost a year ago.”

“We were engaged,” she insisted.

“Freyda, just because you went to my father and he agreed with your insanity doesn’t mean that I did.”

“You humiliated me,” she said, sniffling a little and wiping tears from her eyes. 

Eric could tell that they were crocodile tears.

“You humiliated yourself,” Eric shook his head pityingly. “Listen—I’m sorry that my father made you promises on my behalf, but you and I are never going to happen.”

“Why not? We’re perfect together,” she persisted.

“Name one goddamned thing we had in common other than a completely forgettable orgasm or two?”

She laughed incredulously. “We have a lot in common. We both come from the right kind of family. Just think of the empire we’d have,” she said, her eyes wide.

He shook his head. “You’re nuts,” he whispered. “And if I see you following me again, I will have you arrested. I can’t imagine your daddy would want that scandal on top of the last one.”

She glared at him. “You can’t just sleep with someone and discard them.”

“You knew what we were doing,” he hissed. “I made that clear before I even touched you.”

“You just don’t see the truth right now,” Freyda said insistently. “But someday, you’ll come running to me, Eric. I’m your father’s choice, and I know that you’ll eventually see how things should be.”

Eric shook his head. “If you’re Appius’s choice, why don’t you just wait around a few years? By then, he’ll probably be ready for another wife.”

Freyda huffed and turned on her heel to walk away. 

“No wonder the odd little blond girl doesn’t faze you,” Nora deadpanned when she moved so that she was next to him again. “You’ve had to deal with crazy Freyda for a year.”

 

Sookie sighed and tried not to let the conversations she’d “overheard” bother her too much. She’d been able to read people’s lips since she was a little girl, but it wasn’t always a good idea to “listen.” It was just a hard habit to break. 

As soon as the woman, whom Sookie recognized from the tabloids as Freyda de Castro, had interrupted Nora and Eric’s conversation, Sookie moved so that she could more clearly see both Freyda’s and Eric’s mouths. 

She hated to admit it, but for the last year, she had often found herself looking for Eric at Northman Publishing, though she’d not actually seen him that much. He’d been to her department only a couple of times so that he could meet with Sam. Pam’s office—though on Sookie’s floor—was actually on the other side of the building with the main editing team. The copy editors kind of stayed to themselves. 

On even rarer occasions, Sookie had seen Eric in the staff café at Northman Publishing or in the large auditorium when there were meetings that involved the entire staff. During those gatherings, she would observe that Eric would stay out of the limelight and keep to the corner of the room. His eyes seemed to take in almost everything, but she’d gone out of her way to make sure they’d never fallen on her—not until ten minutes before, that is. 

Sookie had been—for lack of a better word—captivated by thoughts of Eric during the previous year. The way he studied his surroundings and the slightly lost look she saw when she really studied him drew her in and frightened her away all at once. 

She couldn’t name what she felt when she saw him. And she also couldn’t explain her contradictory impulses. Her feelings scared her, even as she wanted desperately to feel them more. 

When she saw Eric’s lips berating Freyda for stalking him, she felt slightly ashamed, knowing that she had been doing something comparable—though certainly not to the same degree as Freyda. But Sookie did “look” for him, and when she saw him, she watched without his knowing. 

Sookie sighed. Maybe she was “crazy,” as Nora had said. But—then again—her interest in Eric seemed like the least crazy thing in her life sometimes. After all, everyone seemed interested in him. 

Sookie could point to several moments in her life that had been pivotal—that in retrospect had made more difference than any others. Strangely, they were always her lowest moments—the ones when she wondered if she should just give up, but something had always stopped her. 

The year before, that “something” had been Eric Northman. She hadn’t met him, and she’d not even exchanged eye contact with him the year before, but he had unwittingly changed her life. There was something about him that seemed so familiar to her—like she was looking into a mirror when she saw him. 

And that confused her. After all, they came from radically different worlds, and they would likely never meet—never speak. But when she got back to Amelia’s house after last January’s NP party and thought about the way that Eric had surveyed the gallery when he thought no one was looking, she had realized a fundamental truth: she wasn’t alone.

She didn’t know why Eric’s eyes were like hers—why they held the same mixture of guardedness and neutrality when others were looking and pain and longing when they were not, but the important thing was that they were like hers. She’d never found a connection like that before, and—though it had taken her a year to discover enough courage to test it—she now knew that it was real. And it was not one-sided.

She’d only been able to do it for a moment, but she had looked at him. Just as importantly, she’d let him look at her—let him see her eyes without her safeguards in place. But that was all it had taken to show him that he wasn’t alone either.

Connection. It was sometimes almost impossible to find, but once found, it could make all the difference in the world.

Sookie closed her eyes for a moment in order to make sure that she’d taken an accurate mental image of Eric’s eyes when they’d stared into hers. She had. They were a perfect blend of cerulean and cobalt—with just a touch of steel blue. She wanted to gaze into them for hours in order to pick out every single shade and memorize every single line. 

But that was not one of her goals for the evening. 

She thought of the list of three goals that she and Claudine had formulated and discussed the week before at their therapy session.

Sookie had met Claudine Crane via her housemate Amelia. Claudine was Amelia’s best friend and had visited the house in Brooklyn several times. The perceptive psychologist had handed Sookie her card one day when she was waiting for Amelia to get ready. At the time, Sookie had been trying to be a good hostess, channeling what she thought Gran would do in a similar situation. She had gotten Claudine a glass of iced tea, had spoken to her about the weather, and had even managed to smile without it seeming too fake—or so she had thought.

Claudine had—without pity in her eyes—given Sookie the card and told her to come by her office some Tuesday after 5:00 since she always stayed late to get caught up on paperwork that day. It had taken Sookie exactly twenty weeks after that to compel herself to go. At first, she’d worried that Amelia had told Claudine that she was “odd.” And then she had worried about what she could say to Claudine. 

Just four weeks before, however, right before the year anniversary of Dr. Dekker’s death, Sookie had shown up at Claudine’s office. 

During their first meeting, Claudine had asked about Sookie’s job. She’d asked about Sookie’s hobbies. Sookie had told her about visiting the MET on Sundays and going to the public library on Saturdays. Claudine had asked about Sookie’s Master’s degree, which she’d finished the spring before. Sookie had volunteered that she was going to be staying in New York for Christmas, which was the following Sunday. She admitted that she was sad because the MET would be closed that day. She’d told Claudine that she was planning to make a batch of Gran’s chicken dumplings on Christmas day since they took a long time to prepare and since Amelia would be out of town for a week, beginning that Friday. Again—without pity in her eyes—Claudine had asked Sookie to bring her some leftovers the next Tuesday. 

Thus far, they had met three other times—every Tuesday. After the first meeting, Sookie had asked to pay like anyone else, and Claudine had made sure that a bill was waiting for her the next week.

A month’s worth of counseling hadn’t yielded any sweeping breakthroughs or existential epiphanies. What it had yielded, however, were practical measures, a lot of questions, and some answers. 

During their second meeting, Claudine had asked Sookie what she wanted most in her life. And Sookie had said the first thing that came to her mind: connection.

Claudine had asked Sookie if she thought she deserved to make connections with others. Sookie had answered that she didn’t. 

Claudine had asked Sookie if it mattered if she deserved the make connections. Sookie had answered that she didn’t know. 

Claudine had asked Sookie if she’d ever had a true connection with anyone. Sookie had asked if the other person had to know about it for the connection to count. 

And then Sookie had told Claudine about Eric and the unexplainable bond she felt with him. From that, Goal #1 had been born for the NP party: to catch Eric Northman’s eye and see if the connection went both ways. 

Goal #2 was for Sookie to practice talking to people socially—to see if she could begin to make other kinds of connections. Claudine had reminded Sookie that she’d already had a lot of practice with Amelia, who considered Sookie to be a friend. Sookie had been shocked by that revelation, but she had also been bolstered by it.

Goal #3 was to try to stop her mother’s voice from being the dominant one in her brain while she was at the party. Sookie was all too acutely aware that it was Michelle Stackhouse’s voice that determined the way that she operated in most high-pressure situations. Michelle had always insisted that Sookie “be normal,” even as she’d berated her for not being that way.

Claudine had asked Sookie to define “normal.” 

Sookie had answered that to be “normal” was to be invisible. 

Again—without pity—Claudine had suggested that “normalcy” was actually a huge spectrum of behaviors and that fitting in and standing out could both belong in that spectrum. She suggested that Sookie’s goal—to make connections—was perfectly “normal,” for instance. 

She’d also suggested that if Sookie did feel a deep connection with Eric that she should try to initiate a conversation with him. Sookie wasn’t so sure she’d be able to do that, but she promised both Claudine and herself that—at the very least—she would practice speaking with others.

As Eric wrapped up his conversation with the apparently very delusional Freyda de Castro, Sookie was once again a little scared that she was somewhat crazy for fixating on an individual just because she’d almost shared a moment with him the year before—“almost” being the operative word.

She’d shared that fear with Claudine several times during their session on the previous Tuesday. But the therapist had allayed Sookie’s fears, telling her that nothing she’d done in regards to Eric had been wrong. All that she was guilty of was spotting someone for whom she felt a sense of understanding. However, Claudine had cautioned that what Sookie had felt might just be one-sided and that she should be prepared if Eric was indifferent. 

Sookie smiled a little. Eric had been anything but indifferent when he’d looked at her. He’d been curious. He’d been intrigued. He’d been surprised.

His eyes had been kind.

Sookie slipped out of Gallery 819, feeling a lot more confident than she’d entered it. Goal #1 was completed. Thus, she resolved to work on Goal #2. Sookie had decided to go in search of Sam Merlotte, her boss. He had been nice to her during her year at Northman Publishing, though it was clear that she made him feel a little uncomfortable at times—mostly because he had to deal with the complaints that poured in about her from the others in her department. Arlene and her minions had—in the last year—taken it upon themselves to complain about Sookie’s “peculiar ways” to anyone who would listen. 

Sookie was just glad that she still had a job, though she was always nervous that the other shoe would drop—likely in the form of one of Pamela Northman’s expensive pumps. Sookie figured that the only reason she still worked at NP was because Sam had advocated for her several times. She knew that she was an excellent copy editor, but she also knew that she wasn’t important enough to be indispensable. 

As Sookie looked around Gallery 800, she recalled the articles that Claudine had given to her about mingling. All she had to do was approach a group of people, smile, and say hello.

“Easier said than done,” Sookie thought to herself. 

Sookie had spent hours memorizing a list of topics she could discuss at the party, everything from recent newspaper articles related to publishing, to new trends in fashion, to how the New York Giants were faring in the NFL playoffs. And, of course, she knew that she could talk about the art in any of the galleries where the party was being held. Sookie had grown to love the MET, and she was quite familiar with many of the galleries since she spent every Sunday there. The first ones she’d studied had been the Northman Galleries, starting with the Monet gallery where she’d first seen Eric, Gallery 819. 

Sookie tried to calm her nerves. Unlike the previous year, she had been able to look the part of a young woman at an important publishing party. She was wearing a simple black sheath dress with a pleated neckline that provided full coverage for her modest breast-size. The garment neither accentuated nor hid her curves. 

Sookie had chosen the dress because the pleats made it look a little unique—but not too different—and because it was a bit longer than a lot of cocktail dresses. She’d bought it two months before when Sam had pressured her to take a few of the vacation days that she’d accumulated so that she wouldn’t lose them. So Sookie had spent two whole days looking for something appropriate that she could afford. She had even found some black Jimmy Choos in a secondhand store. They’d been scuffed, but she had used shoe polish to make them presentable. Of course, the name brand had made the shoes cost 100 dollars despite their wear, but Sookie had splurged once she realized how comfortable the shoes were. 

Another reason she’d spent a bit more on the dress and shoes than she’d originally planned was because they could also be worn to work if she paired them with her charcoal gray suit jacket. Given the fact that the money she allowed herself to spend was still quite limited, Sookie had to stretch every penny. But her savings account was looking better and better, and she was able to send Gran three hundred dollars a month, so Sookie couldn’t really complain. 

The only piece of her outfit that could be construed as anything other than conservative was the scarf she was wearing around her neck. Sookie had debated all day about whether she should wear it. It was impractical for the cold temperature outside, but Sookie loved it. It had been the color—a soft red—that had drawn her to it. It was very thin and made of delicate creped silk chiffon, and she’d bought it in the same secondhand shop where she’d found the shoes, but she’d not had occasion to wear it yet, so she finally decided to just go for it. 

Sookie smoothed out her dress and took a deep breath, deciding that she would get a drink and then find Sam.

She walked toward the opposite side of the long room and then into the hallway where an open bar was set up; however, she was at a bit of a loss at first as she scanned the many bottles of expensive-looking liquor. 

“What can I get you?” asked the friendly voice of the bartender. 

“Um,” she fumbled a little even as she remembered that most people were walking around with cocktails or champagne. She was not overly fond of mixed drinks, and the one time she’d had champagne, it had given her a headache. It wasn’t that Sookie didn’t like a drink now and then; however, she preferred wine or beer. But she didn’t see those options. 

“How about one of our signature cocktails?” the bartender offered helpfully. “It’s basically a gin and tonic with a little raspberry juice.”

“Thanks,” she said, grateful for the man’s help. “That sounds good.” She’d had a gin and tonic before and had liked it, so that choice seemed safe enough.

The bartender just nodded and quickly went to work on her drink. Sookie gave the man a smile for his efforts when he handed the beverage to her. She took a quick sip of the liquid courage and then went back into Gallery 800, in which most of the party guests were congregated since it was the largest of the Northman Galleries. 

Sookie forced herself to smile a little and then to keep that expression in place. She’d been told by her mother many times that the fake smile that she had used for most of her life made her look like she was “crazy,” but Claudine’s articles said that it was important to seem to be welcoming and friendly and that a smile would accomplish those things. 

When Sookie had discussed with Claudine her fears over her “Joker smile”—as her mother had called it—Claudine had suggested that Sookie try to think of something that made her happy and then to smile at that. Sookie had planned to think about her time exploring the MET during the previous year. Doing that always made her feel content.

However, all she could think about now were Eric’s eyes. His orbs had been deeper than any she had ever seen, yet it still seemed as if what she saw was only the tip of a huge iceberg peeking out of the water. She found herself smiling softly and naturally as she thought about what lie under the surface. She intuited that it was that which was making her feel connected to him. 

Her smile in place, Sookie spotted Sam, who was talking to Pamela Northman, whom everyone called Pam—at least to her face. Behind her back, people called her a lot of things, and very few of them were flattering. However, Pam seemed to like all of the negative monikers about her. In fact, Sookie knew for sure that Pam’s current favorite was “the blood sucker.” She’d picked up that information from Pam’s own lips earlier that very evening as she’d been laughing with Sophie-Anne, whom Sookie knew was Appius Northman’s wife.

Sookie bolstered her courage and decided to approach Sam anyway—even though Pam was with him. She determined that she would talk to both of them. After all, they all worked in the same place, and Sookie had seen the dress that Pam was wearing in one of Amelia’s fashion magazines. Sookie decided that she could comment about that if no other topics came to mind. And she already had a topic to speak to Sam about: Luna and he were due to have a child soon.

However, Sookie stopped in her tracks when she automatically began to read the words from Pam’s lips; they were words about her, and even though Sookie could see only the profiles of the pair, she could still “listen” easily. 

“Then—you need to give Susanna a workspace out of the way of everyone else,” Pam said. “There are just too many complaints about her. I know that you don’t want to have to fire her, but I will do it for you if the complaints don’t stop. The HR department informed me just yesterday that a second official grievance has been filed by Arlene Fowler.”

“What for this time?” Sam asked.

“A hostile work environment,” Pam responded.

“I don’t understand,” Sam said, looking frustrated. “Susan does her job; in fact, she does it very well. You can’t let a bunch of bullies sway you.”

Pam sighed. “Listen, Sam. I know you and that wife of yours collect stray animals, but don’t you think it’s time for you to let this one go? Granted—Arlene and her little groupies are like a clique from a bad high school movie, but I can’t exactly blame them for being uncomfortable around Susanna—can you?” Pam asked. “I don’t even have to deal with her that often, and I find her off-putting.” 

“Susan’s just a little shy,” Sam defended weakly. “But she’s the best copy editor I’ve ever seen.” 

Pam sneered. 

Sookie prepared herself to “hear” something she didn’t want to hear. Pam wasn’t known for her kindness; she was known for being blunt. 

“That’s part of the problem,” Pam said. “She’s too good—too efficient. So the others are intimidated and jealous. And then there’s the way she just stares at things as if she’s in another world or just escaped from a fucking loony bin. If you want her to keep her job at NP, then you need to—I don’t know—hide her. Put her into a goddamned storage closet or a fucking corner for all I care! But do something about it, Merlotte. I don’t want to see or hear another complaint about her. If I do, I’ll take care of it myself.” 

Still about fifteen feet from Sam and Pam, Sookie turned on her heel before they saw her. The last thing she needed was to be caught staring at them now. All of her courage evaporated in an instant, and her mother’s voice—ordering her into the corner and telling her that she was defective—was all that she could hear. 

Sookie’s breath caught in her throat, even as she tried to expel her mother’s voice from her head, using some of the techniques that Claudine had taught her. They weren’t working. 

She shook her head and stood awkwardly in the middle of the long room. The party was in full swing, and everyone was talking in groups—little circles of people gossiping or networking or flirting.

None of them were alone. Except her.

“You don’t belong at a party for ‘normal’ people,” Michelle Stackhouse’s voice said into her head as if she were standing right next to her.

Sookie couldn’t agree more.

She felt her feet moving. It took her a moment to realize where she was going.

Back to Gallery 819. Back to find Eric.


	5. Strange and Beautiful

Chapter 5: Strange and Beautiful

Sookie shook her head and stood awkwardly in the middle of the long room. The party was in full swing, and everyone was talking in groups—little circles of people gossiping or networking or flirting.

None of them were alone. Except her.

“You don’t belong at a party for ‘normal’ people,” Michelle Stackhouse’s voice said into her head as if she were standing right next to her.

Sookie couldn’t agree more.

She felt her feet moving. It took her a moment to realize where she was going.

Back to Gallery 819. Back to find Eric.

 

As Sookie reentered the room full of exquisite and renowned Monet paintings, she didn’t look at any of them. Instead, her eyes went to the place where she’d last seen Eric.

He wasn’t there. 

She quickly scanned the rest of the room.

Not there.

Still—Sookie walked into the gallery, and—as if being pulled there—she moved to the spot where Eric had been standing with Nora, hoping that he might have left behind something of himself—anything. 

But she found nothing there.

She closed her eyes. “You can do this, Sookie,” she said to herself. “You can do this.” 

When she opened them again, she was looking at Haystacks. Sookie felt her lips turn downward. She’d spent one of her Sundays in Gallery 819 and had developed an appreciation for Monet, but she just couldn’t bring herself to “like” Haystacks. She smiled just a little as she felt herself becoming a little calmer. 

haystacks

Being able to form an opinion—to hear her own voice in her head—had always been a saving grace in Sookie’s life. Sharing those opinions was something she still striving to do, but having them was another story. Michelle had never infiltrated the opinions that Sookie developed about other things—just the ones that she had about herself. But the ability to form opinions for herself—as Claudine had pointed out—was a good place to start. And it was something for which Sookie could be proud. 

Again, Sookie tried some of the deep-breathing techniques Claudine had taught her, but this time they helped. She took a steadying drink from her cocktail and thought about the conversation she’d “overheard” from Sam and Pam. She sighed. It could have been worse. And really—she’d learned nothing that she’d not known. She’d already known that most everyone in the office disliked working with her. She’d already known that Arlene had filed another official complaint. The only new thing was that Pam had no more patience when it came to the complaints. 

On the other hand, there was news that could be seen as good. Sam had defended her, and maybe if she could work apart from the others, the problems would stop. And there was also her therapy with Claudine. Every day Sookie was feeling a little better, a little stronger and more capable. “You can do this, Sookie,” she repeated to herself. 

After a few more moments, she turned to face the rest of the room and to plan her exit strategy. Being calmer was a good start, but Sookie still wanted to leave the party as soon—and as inconspicuously—as possible. She had seen Arlene and her cronies near the door of Gallery 800 where she’d exited the year before, so leaving that way was something she wanted to avoid. She was just wondering if she dared slip out through the roped-off galleries when she heard the commanding voice of Appius Northman coming from Gallery 818, which was right next door to Gallery 819. 

In addition to owning the company she worked for, Appius was one of the richest men in the country—and one of the most powerful. Through the doorway, Sookie could see that he was speaking with his brother-in-law, Stan Davis—Senator Stan Davis. Sookie took another nervous sip of her drink and moved out of the line of sight from that doorway—not that the powerful men would notice her anyway. But there was no reason to take the chance; the last thing she wanted in that moment was scrutiny from the owner of her place of work. 

She turned around and let her mind focus on the painting which was her favorite in the room; it was called The Four Trees and it always struck her because of the mood it evoked in her. 

“You like this one?” came a voice from next to her. 

Clenching her drink in her fist so that she didn’t drop it on the wooden floor, Sookie turned toward the smooth voice and immediately became the proverbial deer caught in headlights as her eyes locked with Eric Northman’s. In that moment, she was glad that she’d not just taken a drink. She would have likely spit it out. “Close your mouth. Don’t drool,” said her inner voice. Somehow, she obeyed it.

“You didn’t like the other one—did you? The Haystacks?” Eric asked, gesturing to the painting to the left of The Four Trees.

Sookie glanced to her side in order to see if there was someone standing next to her—someone else Eric might be speaking to. But there was no one close to them. 

“Do you speak?” he asked somewhat playfully with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Did she speak? In that moment, Sookie wasn’t quite so sure.

A million words went through Sookie’s brain. She loved words; they were her life. They had always been her refuge. They were her livelihood. But none came out of her mouth to save her from the silence that she was certain would consume her as Eric waited for an answer. She wanted to rip her eyes away from his and move them back to the painting—to do anything to get her bearings. But she couldn’t pull them away from him—not when he was so close to her. 

“Oh—I’m sorry,” he said, speaking again as if she wasn’t standing there gaping at him. “I’m Eric Northman.” He extended his hand to her, and by reflex, she took it. His expression showed a little surprise along with the smirk that was still there. 

She wondered if his surprise had come from the little bolt of electricity that she felt when they touched. Could it be that he had felt something similar? 

“And you are?” he asked.

Who was she? She was a girl still unable to speak. 

“Your hand is cold,” he mused as he broke their contact—probably ten seconds after what might have been construed as a “normal” handshake duration. 

Sookie would have whimpered at the loss of his large, warm hand from her own if the novelty of having it there in the first place wasn’t so great. She’d only ever held one other man’s hand, but Bill had not really been one to take her hand in his that often. 

“Of course, the temperature is kept rather cool in this place,” Eric said when she still didn’t answer. He seemed content to carry on both sides of the “conversation,” a fact for which Sookie was incredibly grateful. 

“Would you like another?” he asked, looking at her left hand, which held her almost empty glass. “Perhaps, I could join you for one. I haven’t tried this year’s cocktail yet.”

Even as Sookie continued to try to think of words that could be construed as an intelligent answer, she heard Appius Northman’s voice from behind Eric. 

“Eric!” Appius bellowed. “Come! I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Sookie saw Eric’s eyes lose all of their life and mirth even before his father had finished his sentence.

“Now,” Appius added sternly. 

“Another time,” Eric said, touching her hand again—ever so briefly. “It was nice speaking with you,” he added, his smirk reemerging for a moment. 

He turned and walked away, and though she’d not been able to speak, her eyes followed him as he moved toward his father. 

That was a mistake.

She met the dark steel blue eyes of Appius and had to work hard to keep her countenance steady even as the elder Northman gave her a withering appraisal, which was the direct opposite of how Eric had been looking at her. 

“Who is that?” Appius’s lips asked as Eric joined him and Senator Davis at the other end of the gallery.

Eric glanced over his shoulder, and she caught the word, “Nobody,” on his lips as he turned back to face his father.

Nobody.

That single word—for some reason—wounded her more than any of the others she’d seen that night, but she didn’t plan on letting that show—not yet. 

She breathed in, and she breathed out—inviting the numbness to take her. She just needed a plan. She just needed an escape. 

She couldn’t really leave the gallery she was in, however, since she would have to go back into Gallery 800 to get to the hall leading to the elevator, and Eric, his father, and the Senator were currently in that path. 

Sookie took a deep breath and turned around so that she was looking away from the men. She drank the last sip of her cocktail, even as she felt her eyes being pulled to the corner of the room where she’d first seen Eric the year before. It was empty.

“Susan,” Sam said from behind her, startling Sookie again. Thankfully, her glass was now empty. 

“Hey, Sam,” Sookie answered as she steadied herself and turned around. She couldn’t help but to cringe internally at the name most everyone called her; Claudine and she had talked about her letting people know that she preferred “Sookie,” but that had been a goal for another week.

She managed to pull on a smile. She was certain that it was her fake one, but it was either that or nothing.

“I have great news!” Sam said, even though his own smile didn’t reach his eyes either.

“Oh?” Sookie asked, preparing herself for news that likely stemmed from his conversation with Pam.

“Uh—we have decided to—uh—give you Mr. Peters’s office when he retires at the end of the month. Uh—he’s not being replaced, and I’m sorry to say that this isn’t a promotion. You do great work—don’t get me wrong—but the department isn’t—uh—promoting now. And—uh—others have more seniority. But with all your projects, it makes sense that you have a little more room and your—uh—own space,” he finished awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Sookie said, truly grateful for the fact that Sam had found a way to help her to stay at NP—at least for the time being. “You’re right. I don’t have much room at my station, and this way, the others can have more space too,” Sookie said, trying not to sound robotic—trying not to look like all she wanted to do was bolt away.

“It’s just that we—uh—wanted to move one of the copy editors—because of the space issue and all—and since you are the only one that doesn’t—uh—have collaborative projects—uh—right now, it made sense for it to be you.”

“You’re right,” Sookie said. “That does make a lot of sense.”

Sam looked immediately relieved that she hadn’t asked him to justify the decision to move her any further. 

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” Sookie said. 

However, Sam didn’t leave as she’d anticipated he would after delivering his news; instead, he looked at her expectantly. Sookie took a deep breath and tried to think of something appropriate to say. Luckily—unlike when Eric was standing before her—the connection between her brain and her mouth seemed to work okay with Sam. 

“It’s been nice seeing you, Sam―I mean outside the office,” she said somewhat awkwardly. “Did—uh—Luna come with you this evening?”

“No,” he said, a worried look momentarily clouding his handsome features. “She wasn’t feeling that well today—morning sickness. I should probably be getting home soon.”

“Me too. I need to email a client overseas,” Sookie lied. 

“Oh—okay. I’ll—uh—see you Monday, Susan,” Sam said with an awkward wave as he turned away and left the room. Sookie was relieved to see that Eric and his father were gone too, but as she waited a few seconds so that it wouldn’t look like she was following Sam out, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. 

She turned and faced the chest of Eric Northman. She looked up and then up again until she was once more locked into his eyes. 

“Did I hear that you were going?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. “I am headed out too. Maybe we could continue our,” he paused, “discussion from before—about the Monet paintings.”

She looked at him wide-eyed, but her feet moved when he took her hand and led her out of the gallery. Her three-inch heels clicked as they made contact with the polished wood floors, but she didn’t notice the sound. She just noticed the warmth of his hand holding hers. 

Instead of walking her through Gallery 800, however, he took her into Gallery 820 before looking around, moving a rope barrier, and then leading them into Gallery 823. He didn’t stop until they were in front of a painting by Vincent Van Gogh. 

“I like this one. It makes me think of you,” he said, looking at her and not the painting.

Given that words were indeed her life, Sookie couldn’t miss the fact that his verb tense made it seem as though he thought of her habitually, but that couldn’t be. 

Could it? 

Sookie looked at him in question, which was the closest she could get to forming words in that moment. She knew the painting. It was called Wheat Field with Cypresses. When she looked at it, her eyes were immediately drawn to the many blues in the sky. She realized that she was looking for the hues in Eric’s eyes there. 

“Why?” she asked in a barely audible voice, though he seemed to hear her just fine. In truth, she found it ironic that her first word to him was also the name of a letter, but she was just happy with the baby step of making any intelligible sound at the moment.

“Are you offended by the comparison?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting and his smirk ghosting back onto his lips.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at the painting. She wasn’t offended by the comparison. She loved the painting in front of her. In fact, it was her favorite piece in that gallery. It was just that she didn’t understand how it could make Eric think of her. The painting was of a wheat field during a summer day. Poppies were in the foreground and a grove of trees made up the center of the piece though Van Gogh’s swirling blue sky was what mostly stood out to Sookie. That sky—so rich with the three-dimensional painting techniques Van Gogh was most known for—filled up half of the canvas, though the cypress trees poked up into the blue swirls.

“Why?” she repeated.

He pointed to the yellow wheat. “If you look close,” he said in a quiet voice, “this field seems to have every shade of yellow and gold in it,” he observed. 

He turned to her and dropped her hand, which he’d still been holding. She looked from the blues of the painting to the blues of his eyes, finding the latter as beautiful as anything the great artist had captured on his canvas. 

Slowly—as if to make certain she didn’t skitter away—Eric brought his fingers up to her hair.

All traces of his smirk were now gone, and his eyes held an intensity that made Sookie’s knees quake a little.

“I had never noticed how lovely that wheat field was—until I saw your hair last year. It was you—wasn’t it?” he asked a bit uncertainly. “You were in the Monet gallery we just came from, but I only caught a glimpse of you. I looked for you all evening, but couldn’t find you. And then I looked for you at NP. But for the last year, I’ve only found you here,” he said, gesturing toward the wheat field. “I began to think that you were a figment of my imagination.”

Her breath caught. 

He stepped closer to her. “Is Susan your name? That’s what I heard Merlotte call you.”

She shook her head. “No,” she managed to whisper as his eyes seemed pull the word out of her. 

“Do you have an alias then?” he asked waggling his eyebrow.

“Susanna,” she answered.

“That’s what Nora called you, but you don’t look like a Susanna to me,” he said with a hint of a smile. He was still holding a piece of her hair in his hand; the act was the tenderest Sookie had ever experienced. 

“You look like the sun,” he said almost reverently.

Sookie hadn’t heard words of admiration for a long time—not since Bill. And he hadn’t really offered her that many of them. Thinking of her ex-boyfriend made her cringe internally a little. But it also helped her to snap out of her shock at the situation—at least a little.

“Sookie,” she said. 

“Sookie,” he repeated, trying out the name. “It fits you. Who calls you Sookie? Friends? Lovers?”

She blushed deeply. “Friends,” she said. In fact, she had four friends, counting Claudine, and they all called her Sookie, even though one of them would no longer speak to her. So that made three. “Friends and my gran,” she added, mentally counting back up to four, which was the number of words in her first “sentence” to Eric. Sure—it didn’t have a verb, but it was at least more than one word. 

“And me?” he said, half-asking and half-stating. “May I call you Sookie as well?”

As he asked those questions, he was bending over toward her, his eyes moving from hers to her lips. As if on a string, her chin lifted up. 

Doubts filtered into her mind. She didn’t really know this man—despite the connection she felt with him. Every woman at Northman Publishing lusted after him, and—if the office gossip was true—many had been “entertained” by Eric, though he was known for never being with any of them more than once. And now it was she whom he was targeting. She knew better than to trust that he really liked her. He’d just met her that night—if it could be called a meeting. 

Her self-doubt told her to run away, but, instead, she rose slightly onto her tiptoes as his lips made contact with hers.

The kiss was unlike any she’d ever experienced; as soon as it started, it was hot fire, and the intensity grew as his hands moved to the back of her head and pulled her closer. She was a little stunned at first, but whereas her mouth seemed to refuse to speak coherently to him, it immediately agreed to participate in the kind of conversation that was currently happening between them. His tongue sought entrance through her lips, and she allowed it without thought, even as she raised her hands to his shoulders, both to steady herself and to create more contact with him. However, his suit jacket prevented her from feeling the warmth of his flesh, so her hands traveled upward until they were touching his neck and jaw and cheeks and ears and hair—anything she could find that was him and not his clothing.

His hands moved from her hair to her face, cradling and touching—assuring himself that she was real. He kissed her with such a fire that he seemed like a man who was going off to war—a man kissing his lover goodbye before he faced a battle that would likely kill him. 

When they had to break apart for air, Sookie looked up at Eric with shock on her face—shock at what she had just done and with whom she had done it. 

Eric’s look mirrored hers, but it was there for different reasons. His mouth was open slightly so that he could catch his breath; he looked like he had been getting ready to speak, but had suddenly forgotten the words. He took a couple of small steps back from Sookie, almost as if he were scared of her all of a sudden. 

Sookie bit her lip and backed off a little too. 

Eric’s eyes, a blue tempest of things that she couldn’t decipher, despite her years of studying people, remained fixed on hers. 

Blue swirls on a master’s canvas. 

And then there was suddenly a look in those eyes that Sookie did recognize—accusation. She’d seen that look a million times—from her mother, from her brother, from her classmates, for her work colleagues, from her friends, from Bill, and even from Gran a few times. It was a look that told her she’d done something wrong—a look that told her that she’d been behaving “abnormally” again. 

Her hand rose to her lips, which were still tingling from Eric’s kiss—a beautiful feeling that she’d never experienced before. But she couldn’t enjoy it, not with him looking at her like he was. She would have whispered out an apology, but her now-shaking hand was more firmly over her lips, as if to hide the offending things from his gaze. She must have done something wrong.

“Yes”—she thought to herself—“of course you did something wrong. You just got the best kiss of your life, but that doesn’t mean you gave a good one in return. This man in front of you—this god who would put Michelangelo’s David to shame—has kissed dozens of women, maybe even hundreds! And you have now kissed two men.”

While this diatribe was going on inside of her head, Eric stepped forward a bit and seemed ready to speak; however, again he stopped.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to say. The shaking of her hand seemed to have moved to the rest of her body as they stared at each other.

“Please,” he said pleadingly, “don’t be. Don’t be sorry.” His voice cracked a little. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting something like that.”

“It wasn’t bad?”

“No,” he said. “It was,” he paused, “perfect.”

“It was?” she asked, her quiet voice conveying her surprise.

He nodded and moved another step toward her, his eyes once more trained onto her lips.

“You folks are supposed to keep to the designated galleries,” a guard interrupted from the doorway, his tone both annoyed and bored—as if his only job that night was to make sure the guests stayed where they were supposed to be.

At the guard’s words, Sookie saw Eric’s demeanor shift immediately from uncertainty and longing to control and confidence. 

Eric turned around to face their interrupter. “We were just looking at the Van Gogh,” he said, his voice steady and calm—the opposite of what it had been a few moments earlier.

“Oh, Mr. Northman,” the guard said in recognition. In a much more conciliatory tone, he added, “You can, of course, walk through the wing as you wish; however, I’m afraid that I’ll have to follow along with you if you want to leave the Northman Galleries. Uh—security reasons,” he said apologetically.

“That won’t be necessary,” Eric said. “It was just the one painting that I wanted to show my,” he paused, “companion. Shall we?” he asked stretching out his hand to Sookie. His eyes, now unseen by the guard, looked hopeful.

Her hand was tucked into his before she was even aware that she’d moved it. 

“Have a good evening,” the guard said to Eric. He barely glanced in Sookie’s direction, however. 

Given the interconnectedness of the gallery rooms, Eric led them out through two other roped off galleries, which led to the long hallway and the bank of elevators that Sookie had used as an exit the year before. The only difference was that she and Eric had emerged at the other end of the hall from Gallery 800.

Sookie was grateful. This way, they would avoid the party, which—from the sound of things—was still in full swing. Of course, she didn’t know what would happen once they had exited the museum. More to the point, she didn’t know what she wanted to happen.

As they approached the elevator and Eric pushed the button to call it to them, Sookie’s eyes were drawn to movements at the opposite end of the hallway where two men were having a quiet, though heated discussion. The men were at least thirty feet from Eric and her, but she recognized them immediately as Felipe de Castro and Victor Madden. De Castro ran the second most lucrative publishing house in New York—Vegas Publishing, named after the city where de Castro had been born and raised. Victor was his CEO. Not surprisingly—given his birthplace—de Castro had a reputation as a gambler. But he let Victor, who was rumored to be ruthless and underhanded, do his dirty work—at least according to the gossips at NP.

Sookie couldn’t help herself as her eyes went to their lips. It was her habit. She heard Eric curse impatiently to himself when the elevator wasn’t coming, and then she heard the button being punched again. But her eyes stayed on the talking men. What she “heard” from them caused her to gasp loudly, even as the elevator finally dinged to signal its arrival.

Her gasp drew Eric’s attention down to her, and then he followed her eyes to the other end of the hall where he saw Victor Madden and Felipe de Castro. The two men abruptly stopped their conversation when they noticed Eric and Sookie.

“Northman!” de Castro said with a slight Spanish accent. Given their distance from one another, his voice was raised. It also sounded falsely enthusiastic. 

“Felipe. Victor,” Eric responded in greeting, even as Sookie squeezed his hand and looked up at him, her eyes containing nervousness that only he could see. 

“Good evening, Eric,” Victor said smarmily. 

“I thought that you were meeting my daughter here,” de Casto said, his tone betraying some annoyance as he took in the woman next to Eric as well as the sight of the couple’s joined hands. 

“No,” Eric said simply. 

“Then, she must have been mistaken,” Felipe said, his eyes narrowed. “However, I do wish you two would work out your difficulties and get on with things. I had such high hopes for you, Eric.”

Eric sighed. “I’m sorry to disappoint, Felipe. But as I’ve explained to Freyda, she and I can’t work—too many differences,” Eric said diplomatically, wishing that he wasn’t being forced to have such an awkward conversation over the length of the long hallway. Strangely, however, he didn’t mind that Sookie was there. 

“Freyda can be quite tenacious,” de Castro said. “Perhaps she’ll wear you down,” he smiled, though his expression was anything but polite.

Eric shrugged rather awkwardly.

“Shall we lunch at the club next week?” Felipe asked.

“Sounds good,” Eric said, already dreading what was certain to be another awkward encounter. “I’ll have Ginger call Robin to set it up.”

“Excellent,” de Castro said.

Eric nodded a farewell and took a step toward the elevator before it was called to a different floor. Sookie caught only one more sentence from Victor’s lips as she was stepping inside after Eric. Although that sentence had been the only one aimed at her directly—laughing her off as Northman’s “tart of the week”—that was the least upsetting part of what Felipe and Victor had said.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Eric went to press the button to go down, but Sookie squeezed the hand that she’d been holding and found her voice.

“Mr. Northman, those two men are going to try to damage Northman Publishing. They have been buying up stock, which they plan to dump all at once to drive down the prices; they think that if they do that, they’ll convince some big Chinese company to work with them and not you. And they have at least two spies in your company. I only picked up the names Quinn and Sandy, but they’ve been spies for a while. Their job for de Castro is twofold now. At first, they were only to find out all the information they could about NP so that they could use it to get the inside track when it came to contracts and such. But now, they also hope to learn something that can be used to blackmail you into marrying Freyda.” 

Sookie hadn’t taken a breath during her speech. But now she inhaled deeply out of fear as Eric’s eyes turned stormy again, but this time it wasn’t from passion or confusion. It was from anger. His large hand, which had been holding onto her gently and comfortingly, now dropped her hand as if it were infected with a disease, and both of his hands came up to her shoulders, gripping her a little too tightly for comfort, but not in excess.

“What are you talking about? How do you know this? Are you a spy for de Castro?” Eric asked in an angry rush.

“No,” she shook her head. “I—uh,” she paused, not knowing how to explain. “I just know. Please. Just,” she paused again and then spoke in barely a whisper. “Just protect yourself—okay?”

“How do you know?” he demanded again.

Tears immediately rose and fell from Sookie’s eyes, and she was suddenly tongue-tied again. How could she explain what she could do? And even if he believed her, he might ask her how she’d learned to do it. And—if she told him, what then? Would he pity her? Would he think of her as defective? Suddenly, her mother’s voice was back, telling her to hide her ability—her disability—and to act “normal.”

“How do you know?” he boiled, this time shaking her shoulders a little.

“I can’t say,” she said in a whimper. 

Eric pulled his hands off of her like she was on fire and then stepped back. She watched apprehensively as he got ahold of his immediate rage.

“Are you certain of what you told me?” he asked after he’d gained a little more control. 

She nodded. 

“What are you?” Eric asked, dragging his hand through his hair. He seemed to be talking to himself now. “A spy for de Castro? One of my father’s spies? Or are you a crazy person who just wants to stir up trouble?”

Sookie heard the word “crazy,” and part of her was immediately lost to her memories of other kids—and even adults—calling her “crazy Susan.” Playground chants from children and suspicious looks from their parents churned in her head. She’d come to New York to get away from “crazy Susan.” She’d left Bon Temps and then Mississippi in order to find a new life—a “normal” life. 

And—even though she’d been on the receiving end of insults from almost everyone she’d met in New York, no one, with the exception of Claudine, had found out about what made her different. Her life hadn’t been perfect, but she’d been working to make it better. However, with a single word from Eric—“crazy”—all that seemed lost to her. She could take being odd. She could take not being liked. Those things were improvements, compared to what she’d gone through as a child. But what she couldn’t take was Eric Northman thinking of her that way.

But why would he think of her in any other way?

“What are you?” he asked again.

“A copy editor,” she said meekly. 

He looked like he was going to shake her again, but she didn’t back away. She’d been shaken, slapped, and hit many times before by her mother, and Michelle Stackhouse had been a lot rougher than Eric. So Sookie just waited for any abuse Eric wanted to dish out. 

However, Eric’s eyes changed from angry to haunted, and he made no move to touch her. Instead, he pressed the button on the idle elevator so that the doors would open. And then he stepped out. She stayed completely still and watched him go. 

He didn’t look back.


	6. Electra Is Dying, Part 1

[A/N: This chapter includes memories of some of Sookie’s childhood abuse. It could be upsetting to some readers. I would also suggest Kleenex.]

 

Chapter 06: Electra is Dying, Part 1

“What are you?” he asked again.

“A copy editor,” she said meekly. 

He looked like he was going to shake her again, but she didn’t back away. She’d been shaken, slapped, and hit many times before by her mother, and Michelle Stackhouse had been a lot rougher than Eric. So Sookie just waited for any abuse Eric wanted to dish out. 

However, Eric’s eyes changed from angry to haunted, and he made no move to touch her. Instead, he pressed the button on the idle elevator so that the doors would open. And then he stepped out. She stayed completely still and watched him go. 

He didn’t look back.

 

The metal door closed and Sookie felt the elevator jar to life. 

Reasoning that it had been called to the lower floor since she’d not pushed the button, she knew that she didn’t have much time to compose herself. Luckily, she’d had a lot of practice detaching herself from her emotions. With Claudine, she had been working on doing the opposite—on engaging with emotions good and bad—but Sookie gave herself permission to go numb for a while, given what had just happened. She quickly used the pretty scarf that she was wearing to dry her eyes as best she could. She hated the fact that she was ruining it with her mascara, but she didn’t want to have black lines down her face. She glanced at her mirrored reflection in the elevator doors.

Considering everything, she looked okay, though her scarf was worse for wear. 

Sookie closed her eyes to try to banish Eric from her brain. She would allow herself to think about him later; meanwhile, she needed to get home. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking down, avoiding the mirror. 

She hated to see her eyes when she cried, for when they were bright with tears, they changed to a blue that matched her mother’s eyes almost exactly. And seeing that blue often made Sookie recall all of the disappointment and anger and distaste that she’d grown up seeing from Michelle Stackhouse. That disapproving glare had ingrained itself into Sookie so fully that she could give it to herself whenever she did something like she’d done earlier—something that placed the words, “I’m not normal!”, into glaring, flashing lights above her head. 

Sookie shook her head and blew upward to stop more tears. “You can cry when you get to your room,” she said to herself. “Until then, hold it together, Sookie.” 

Sookie hadn’t needed to use such a pep talk for a while, but it still worked, and when the elevator doors opened and she stepped out of the enclosure as others stepped in, her eyes were looking at the floor in front of her so that people would be less likely to notice her. She walked toward the front entrance as quickly as she could go in her black heels, and she was pleasantly surprised when she saw that her coat was already waiting for her. She glanced up and saw Ben—whom she recognized from the year before.

“I had it handy, Miss,” the congenial man spoke.

“Thanks,” she managed.

“Can I get you a taxi?” he asked.

She shook her head as she put on the same gray coat she’d had the year before. If anything, it was even more threadbare, but new suits for work, her outfit for the party, and her therapy sessions had been her financial priorities. 

Just as had happened the year before, Sookie found that she welcomed the biting cold of the New York winter night as she left the NP annual party. 

Sookie shivered a little as a particularly strong gust of wind chilled her. She quickly put on her gloves and then the hat that she’d stowed into the coat’s large pocket. Then, she headed toward the subway, which would take her to Brooklyn.

 

Sookie was grateful to find several open seats when she got onto the green line to Brooklyn; the ride would take around half an hour, and—as was her habit—she quickly used her ability to scan the conversations of those around her. Being able to read lips was a skill that she hated most of the time—both because of how she’d developed it and because of times like tonight when she looked like a crazy person because of it—however, it was also useful. 

Sookie was astute when it came to figuring people out; out of necessity, she’d honed all the skill and intuition she had to ascertain which people were most likely to hurt her. So in some ways, she had more insight into the human psyche than Claudine did. But she had very little idea of how to successfully “be” around people. And when she tried—as she had with Bill—something eventually happened that clearly showed her that whatever attempts she had been making to be more “normal” were all for naught. 

Sookie sighed. After she made sure that no one on the subway was talking about anything suspicious, she settled back into her seat and wondered what she should do about Eric Northman.

Based on what he’d said, it was likely that he thought she was a spy for either de Castro or—strangely enough—his own father. Or he thought that she was just as crazy as Freyda, his stalker. She sighed, once more wondering if she was “crazy fucked up in the head,” as her brother Jason had liked to describe her. 

Her encounter with Eric had left her reeling, and she found herself wanting to know what he’d wanted from her before she told him about what she’d seen from the lips of Victor Madden and Felipe de Castro.

Her mother would tell her that any interest Eric had for her was a con, a carefully crafted hoax to hurt her. After all, Sookie had fallen victim to such tricks before. When Sookie was fifteen, Michelle Stackhouse had paid a boy at school to “show interest” in her. Sookie had been a sophomore in high school, and the boy had been a senior, a classmate of Jason’s named Rene Lenier. Rene was one of Jason’s best friends, which should have clued Sookie into the fact that he was not being sincere when he told her—right in the middle of the school hall where several people could hear him—that he liked her and wanted to take her to the homecoming dance. 

Rene was popular and handsome, and he was the first boy at school who ever talked to her—without taunting or bullying her, that is. She had accepted his invitation with a nodded “yes.”

Even her mother had seemed to be excited when Jason told her that Rene had asked Sookie out. For the first and only time, Michelle had taken Sookie shopping, buying her a pretty white dress. Sookie had been amazed by her mother’s seeming approval.

She’d dared to hope.

But—of course—what happened next played out like a bad teenage movie. Rene, of course, didn’t show up to get her, but after Sookie had waited an hour on the porch—which Michelle said was the proper place to wait for a date—Rene had called to say that the coach had kept the boys after the game and that Sookie should meet him at the dance. Michelle had even offered to drive Sookie to the school gym. 

But when she’d gotten there, the predictable happened. Rene, of course, was there with his “real” date. And all the kids had perfect ammunition with which to bully Sookie. They took turns ridiculing her for believing that anyone would ever want to date “the freak show.” Rene had taken great pride in showing everyone the fifty bucks that he’d gotten to feign interest in “Crazy Susan.” Finding herself the center of attention for all the wrong reasons, Sookie slipped away as soon as she could. 

It wasn’t even that the situation bothered her that much. It was “normal” more than anything else—at least “her normal.” She was used to the people at school using her “otherness” as an excuse to bully her. She was used to the name-calling and the mocking laughter. She was used to suffering at the hands of others—especially her mother and brother.

What she was not used to was overcoming the one thing that she’d not felt before: hope. Feeling that hope disappear into thin air had damaged the normally numb girl.

The school was two miles from Sookie’s house, and it took her half an hour to walk home on that cold, rainy night. Her mother had been waiting for her. Michelle Stackhouse had called the experience a “much needed lesson in humility” for Sookie and then proceeded to list all the reasons why no man would ever want her. With the help of her bottle of cheap wine, Michelle got on quite a roll that night. The crescendo had been when she made a shivering, wet Sookie strip off her pretty, white dress and burn it in the fireplace. 

It was not the worst thing that Michelle had ever made Sookie burn. 

Sookie remembered how the white dress had taken a long time to disappear into ash, and since it was wet, burning it produced gray smoke which competed with Michelle’s chain-smoking that night. If the white of that dress had symbolized hope and new beginnings for Sookie, the dark gray of the ashes and smoke had clearly signaled that isolation and detachment were safer things for her to feel. Thus—she had made herself forget about the hope and sink back into numbness. 

As expected, Rene’s trick had been much gossiped about at school, and no boy there ever showed her any interest again—not even after they’d begun to perceive her as “more normal.” 

Is that what Eric wanted? To trick her? To make her the star of some kind of game or hoax? She sighed, knowing that she had a good reason to suspect Eric. There was a precedent—even beyond the Rene incident—which indicated that any interest in her was a lie. After all, her relationship with Bill had been merely an intricate and long-term con. 

But something within her wouldn’t let her believe that Eric could be cruel like that. Her intuition had warned her about Rene and even Bill to a certain extent, but her instincts told her something very different about Eric. Even after what had happened in the elevator, she wanted to believe in him. 

So why had he talked to her? Why had he kissed her? Why had he seemed to bare a bit of his soul to her? 

She shook her head a little. None of that mattered now. She had to be practical; she had to plan, and she needed to plan for the worst. If Eric truly thought she was a spy for de Castro, or even if he just thought that she was a crazy woman trying to start trouble, she’d be fired. 

Sookie had some money in her savings account, but without her job at NP, she would soon be out of money and a home. She had about two-month’s rent in reserve, but finding work that would pay for her room in Brooklyn would be difficult. She now had her Master’s Degree in English, but she’d gotten her job at NP because of Dr. Dekker’s pity and connection to Sam. 

She wondered if she’d be able to get her foot in the door at any other publishing house, especially if she was fired from NP. Her palms grew cold and clammy as she thought about having to make a good impression at job interviews. Of course, the likelihood of her getting interviews was slim. She could just imagine the letters of “recommendation” from Sam and Pam: “Susanna Stackhouse is a good copy editor—if you like your employees to be odd and to alienate the rest of the staff. Oh—and she might also be a corporate spy. And crazy too.” 

Of course, all that could be a moot point. What if Eric had her arrested? Corporate espionage was a crime, and she had no money for an attorney. And even if she told her overworked court-appointed attorney all about her ability to read lips, would she be believed? She could imagine hours and hours of tests, gauging her ability. That thought reminded her of the many hours her mother had spent “testing” her and punishing her when she got even a single word wrong. 

Sookie knew enough about the world to understand that being innocent of a crime wouldn’t necessarily keep her out of prison. And—even if she could prove that she wasn’t guilty, that her ability explained what she knew—she would still be arrested. She would still have to spend time in jail until she could prove her innocence by demonstrating her lip-reading ability—since there would be no way for her to afford bail. And there was no way she’d ask Gran for the money. 

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of being locked into a cell for days and days with only the corner of the room to look into. She wondered if that would finally be what it took for her to truly go crazy. She figured that Claudine might be able to help her, but—then again—she’d yet to tell Claudine about her lip-reading ability. Amelia didn’t know either. 

Sookie stifled her tears once more as she remembered the way Eric had looked at her with such anger in his eyes. He’d looked betrayed and hurt. And she’d put that hated look into his eyes.

She cursed the fact that she had what Bill had labeled a “gift.” She’d wanted to help Eric with it, and maybe she had, but whenever she used her ability, there was always fall-out for her. 

Always. 

The so-called “gift” was a double-edged sword.

As the subway lurched to a stop and the doors opened, Sookie noticed two new passengers boarding the train. Their hands were moving animatedly in a language that she should have been able to speak: sign language.

She watched the movements of their hands. Their language was a mystery to her, but it was beautiful all the same. She wondered what the two could be talking about as their expressions changed with their hands. 

As she watched them, she couldn’t help but to wonder what could have been.

 

From the accounts Sookie had been told by her father and Gran, she had been born “normal” enough. Her mother had gone into labor two days before her due date, and Michelle Stackhouse had been in labor for just over six hours. Sookie had weighed 7 pounds, 2 ounces at birth, and—according to what she remembered hearing from her dad before he died—she’d been a “good baby” in that she’d slept through the night almost from the start. 

Everything seemed normal according to her father’s point of view, and Sookie had felt true affection from the man before he died. However, she had never felt anything but hatred from her mother. 

In mid-December, Sookie had tried to list all of the factors that could have led to her own mother’s hatred of her. In the end, her list had three items. 

The mental exercise had been precipitated by one of Sookie’s trips to the MET. She’d been studying the pieces in Gallery 171. Sookie had first visited that gallery in late November; it was a huge room, containing more than 4,000 pieces of Greco-Roman art covering a long time span—from the fifth millennium B.C. to A.D. 313. It was the only gallery that Sookie had encountered so far that had taken her more than one Sunday to peruse. But she had been determined to take her time and to try to understand and get a feel for the art and the history in the gallery. 

It took her three Sundays worth of visits to finish seeing everything. On the third, she became captivated by a small piece that was identified as a cameo. It was made of glass, and—according to its description—the object likely depicted Orestes returning home. Sookie loved mythology, and her time at the museum, as well as some books she’d edited, had taught her even more of it.

Orestes was the son of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon. According to myth, Agamemnon sacrificed the life of one of his daughters to the gods in return for favorable winds for the Greeks, who were sailing to Troy to fight over the abduction of Helen by Paris. Agamemnon was a true politician though, merely using the abduction as an excuse to conquer the Trojans and appease his ambition. And—eventually—the gods favored his side. But Clytemnestra neither forgot nor forgave the death of her daughter, and when Agamemnon returned home, she killed him. Some versions of the story claimed that Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon not for retribution but because she wanted to be with her lover. In those versions, Orestes had to flee as well—to avoid being murdered too. 

That was where Electra came into the story. She was another daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, the one who was not killed. According to some versions of the myth, Electra convinced Orestes to help her kill their mother in order to take revenge for her father. 

The psychotherapist Carl Jung had coined the term, “Electra Complex,” to describe the conflict that arose between a mother and a daughter for the husband/father’s affection. Sigmund Freud had agreed with some of Jung’s ideas, but not the labelling of the condition. However—as a nice correspondent to the “Oedipus Complex”—the name stuck. 

Having a mother like Michelle Stackhouse, Sookie had read a lot about the “Electra Complex.” Whole books had been written about how mothers and daughters would be locked in competition. Many of the case studies talked about how mothers would undermine their daughters, even subjecting them to public ridicule in some cases. 

Of course, understanding this phenomenon intellectually and experiencing it as Sookie had were two very different things. The cameo in the museum reminded Sookie of what she’d read about Electra and Clytemnestra. It also reminded her of Jung’s and Freud’s studies. 

But in many ways, the cameo was more powerful to her. The object showed two men and two women. The men were Orestes and his friend Pylades, who had returned with Orestes to help him. The women were likely Electra and Clytemnestra. To Sookie, they seemed to be mid-confrontation, though they were grasping hands. One of the women was bending threateningly toward the other. In Sookie’s mind, that was Clytemnestra, trying to make Electra cower. But the other woman was standing straight and tall. 

As someone who had studied literature and who was learning more and more about art every week, Sookie knew that a hundred different people might look at that little cameo and interpret its story in a hundred different ways, but that didn’t matter to her. She snapped a picture of it and then went home to begin her list about why her own mother hated her.

The first item on the list was the “Electra Complex.”

The second item was “Grandma Bonnie.” Bonnie was Michelle’s own mother, and she died when Sookie was about ten. Sookie didn’t know everything about her mother’s upbringing, but she did know that her grandmother always had a scowl on her face for her daughter and that she was the one person that Michelle seemed to shrink from. Abandoned by the man who had gotten her pregnant, Bonnie had been an unwed mother during an era when such a thing wasn’t common and was judged harshly. When Sookie knew her, Bonnie was almost militantly religious, and she obviously counted her own daughter among her sins. Sookie had seen Bonnie slap Michelle once, and seeing it had earned Sookie a hard slap of her own. 

Still—Bonnie was well-liked in Bon Temps, and those in town talked of her religious devotion. As an adult, Sookie had come to understand that both Bonnie and her daughter were masters at manipulating others. In public, they portrayed themselves as long-suffering martyrs, and everyone pitied and admired them. In private, they were cruel women, especially when it came to the treatment of their daughters. Intellectually, Sookie understood that their cruelty against someone weaker was a sign of their own weakness. But as a child, Sookie only understood that Bonnie looked at her as if she should be taken into the woods and left there. Perhaps, that was why Michelle had followed suit.

Still—Michelle was greatly loved by Corbett Stackhouse, and she may have been able to overcome her own treatment by Bonnie and to become a good mother if Sookie had stayed the “normal” child she’d been born as. 

However, that didn’t happen. There was a third item on Sookie’s list: “My disability.”


	7. Electra Is Dying, Part 2

A/N: Once more, I want to warn you that Sookie is recalling her abuse in this chapter. It may be disturbing to some readers.

 

Chapter 07: Electra Is Dying, Part 2

Though Sookie couldn’t remember when it happened exactly, sometime around her fourth birthday, something changed to disturb the “normal” existence her family enjoyed. Sookie began to suffer from bad ear infections. In fact, Sookie’s first memory was of sitting in a doctor’s office in pain. 

Having a chronically sick child had caused several immediate changes to the Stackhouse household. First, though Corbett had some medical insurance, it didn’t cover all of Sookie’s doctors’ visits and medicines, so he had to take on a second job. After he began working three nights a week—in addition to the fulltime job he already had—Michelle became even more resentful of her daughter. 

And then babysitters could no longer be found to care for the sick girl who would not stop crying, so Michelle had had to quit her own part-time job at the clothing shop owned by her mother. As might have been expected, this caused additional conflict between Bonnie and her daughter. And it heightened Michelle’s disdain for Sookie, especially when Corbett had to begin working weekend shifts at a nearby factory to make-up for Michelle’s lost income. 

Michelle had always wanted an affluent life. She had wanted for Corbett to go to night classes, to earn his college degree, and to get a better-paying job. But—according to her—Sookie’s issues prevented that.

Although Corbett continued to insist that Sookie be taken in for what Michelle later called “useless, expensive tests,” Sookie’s problem intensified, as did her pain from it. 

However, Michelle quickly lost all tolerance for her crying child, and began to slap Sookie hard—right over her ears—if she complained or cried or made any noise whatsoever. Sookie was often shut into her room alone during the day when her father wasn’t at home.

At four years old, Sookie didn’t understand why she was in so much pain or why her ears seemed to buzz with static so much of the time. But she soon came to understand that crying would make her mother upset and that any complaints to her father would make Michelle Stackhouse even angrier the next day when he was at work again. 

Sookie also quickly learned that—on the two evenings a week that her daddy was home—she was to keep quiet. And if he asked her, she was to lie and say that her ears didn’t hurt. If Corbett spent time with Sookie on his free evenings, Michelle would slap the side of her head the next day. Sookie, to protect herself, learned to distance herself from the only one in the household who showed her love. 

While Michelle had no patience or tolerance for Sookie, she had all the patience in the world for the light of her life, Jason. And Jason followed his mother’s lead, treating Sookie like a pariah. 

Naturally intuitive and sensitive to those around her, Sookie had learned that being quiet—disappearing even—was the only way to avoid her mother’s harsh words and slaps. So by the time she was five years old, Sookie had simply learned to live with the pain in her ears as if it were a normal thing. For all she knew, it was “growing pains” just as her mother had said it was when Sookie had first complained about her ears. 

Soon enough, Michelle stopped taking Sookie to specialists in Shreveport and began to take her to a local doctor, who eventually said that there was nothing that could be done for Sookie. She was diagnosed as having a congenital hearing problem, which would get progressively worse, until she could no longer hear at all.

The doctor was wrong. Sookie had always heard something. 

Always. 

Buzzing and drumming. Whirring and wind. Pressure and percussion. 

It was just that the sound in her own ears slowly but surely replaced all other sounds from the outside world. But she became just as accustomed to the new noises in her life as she had to the physical pain that accompanied them.

Of course, Bonnie liked to berate Michelle for having a handicapped child. Bonnie explained the affliction to Michelle as a sign that the child was not “God-loved.” For her part, Michelle refused to accept the idea of having a deaf child. Words like “defective,” “abnormal,” “freak,” and “retard”—the last coming mostly from her brother’s lips—were among the most common that Sookie heard before she lost the ability to hear the words of others. Of course, all of these words were spoken to Sookie when Corbett was not at home, and, as was expected, when he was at home, Michelle and Jason both acted differently—“normally.” 

To Corbett, Sookie had been the one who had seemed anti-social and withdrawn, going to bed early or sitting in a corner and reading when he was home. He likely accepted her behavior as a byproduct of her disease. But he still tried to show her love, sometimes even insisting that she spend time with the family on the evenings he was home. He would sit next to her on the couch and try to find out about her days. He would bring her toys. But every kind word from him was countered by fifty harsh ones from Michelle the next day. All toys were only allowed out when Corbett was home, and—even then—Sookie was to sit quietly in a corner and “look like she was enjoying them.”

In truth, Sookie became nervous about receiving anything from her father—including love—and she lost the ability to truly play with any of the objects he brought to her. 

So—eventually—Corbett, weary from overwork and likely frustrated that nothing he did seemed to spur his daughter into returning his affection, stopped trying so hard to give it. 

Michelle had won; Electra was dying—withering away to the point of invisibility. 

As a child, of course, Sookie did not understand psychology or the implications of all the words that her mother and brother used to describe her. And she didn’t have the ability to question their accuracy or her mother’s treatment of her. She just felt their efficacy. As an adult, Sookie knew the being deaf didn’t make a person any less intelligent or any less able to adapt and function in the world. And it certainly didn’t make him or her “mentally disabled.” 

However, all she knew about herself was what she had been taught. The biggest lesson was learned from her mother. The only way to avoid increased suffering was to appear as if she was perfectly “normal.” And any outward sign that she could not hear was met with “punishment.” 

Luckily, Sookie had been developing quickly before her first ear infection. She had already been speaking quite well, and she was even reading some elementary-level books on her own. When she really pushed her memories, she could vaguely recall her daddy reading to her in the early days of her sickness—while he still had hope that the hearing problems could be fixed.

Given the fact that the hearing loss started slowly and it took almost four years for Sookie to become completely deaf, she was able to adapt so that she was almost “normal.” 

In fact, it was difficult for anyone to “hear” a problem based on Sookie’s speech. She sounded like anyone else where she was from. And Sookie adapted in other ways too. She began watching people—watching their lips and their faces to tell what they were saying when she couldn’t hear them. 

As soon as the town had learned that the little Stackhouse girl was going deaf, the pity had started. Sookie hated it, but Michelle thrived on it. In public, Michelle would lament about the difficulties of raising a “handicapped” child. In public, Michelle didn’t show her disdain for Sookie’s “handicap.” 

However, in private things were different. While Sookie still retained partial hearing, she was yelled at because Michelle wanted to make sure that Sookie could hear it. And the little girl was also slapped or spanked or shaken almost daily. But no one ever saw the evidence of it; Michelle was too careful for that. The only people who ever witnessed the abuse were Bonnie and Jason. Bonnie would look on approvingly, and Jason was told that Sookie deserved it for being so abnormal. 

Sookie had kept silent about the physical and mental abuse. It was normal to her, after all. And she didn’t want to be punished even more. Thus, Sookie had stayed in the shadows as much as she could, trying to appear like any other child—at least in her language skills.

In fact, it was a while before Sookie’s school teachers or her father figured out that she was completely deaf. Sookie remembered hearing her last “outside” noise, the scrape of a chair on the floor, when she was around ten years old. But it was another year before anyone other than Michelle knew that Sookie heard nothing from the world anymore.

When they did figure it out, her teachers suggested that Sookie learn sign language. Michelle had put her foot down, citing the fact that Sookie was obviously perfectly capable of functioning without a language that would just make her seem more abnormal. Plus, no one else in town knew how to sign. 

Corbett tried to convince Michelle that they could learn sign language with Sookie, but Michelle had cried and complained that they already had so little time to spend together as it was. But when Corbett suggested that he cut back on work now that they no longer needed to take Sookie to doctors, Michelle lamented that she still couldn’t go to work because of having to help Sookie so much with her schoolwork to make up for her handicap. In truth, Michelle just liked having the extra money. And she didn’t like having to work for it herself. 

Thus, instead of learning to sign, Sookie was entirely dependent upon reading lips. To do that, of course, she had to look at people closely. And as her skill to read lips increased, so too did her skill to read people’s expressions, at least the ones they wore around their mouths. 

“Different” was not a synonym for “unique” in the small town of Bon Temps, especially since Michelle Stackhouse was always going on about Sookie being “abnormal” or “handicapped” to all her friends, who—in turn—didn’t want their own kids to play with the “odd” girl. 

The paradox, of course, was that Michelle would demand “normalcy” from Sookie even as she would undermine that idea publicly at every turn. 

In school, Sookie tried to be as “normal” as possible so that her teachers wouldn’t have to contact her mother about any problems. “Problems” meant that Sookie would be punished in her room during the afternoons, nights, and weekends that her father worked. Sookie wouldn’t have minded the punishment so much if her mother had let her read. But Michelle didn’t. A chair was set facing the corner, and Sookie was left to study the drab paint—most often without having any idea about what was happening in the world behind her. She would lose all sense of time as she sat in that corner with only her thoughts of worthlessness to keep her company. It was yet another hell that she was forced to get used to, a hell that she never spoke of for fear of more repercussions. 

Her brother would sometimes “help” with her punishment and would come into the room and kick her chair from behind—thus the sounds of scraping wood. Sookie learned quickly that any noise or reaction out of her would be met with a longer punishment. 

And punishment meant more days staring at the corner. So she just sat in the chair—as still as she could be, hardly even breathing. 

After Uncle Bartlett had been left with Sookie several times, the little girl endeavored never to misbehave—to do anything it took to appear normal, just so that she could avoid staring into that corner. 

Uncle Bartlett would come up behind her while she was sitting in her little chair and watching the corner. He would touch her as she sat there, trying to be still and quiet and to disappear into the paint of the joining walls. At first he would only touch her shoulders. And then it was her breasts, which were still flat against her chest. Then it was her other private parts, though always over her clothing. Finally, it escalated to the point that he would take down his pants and make her touch him—all as her eyes stayed glued to a spot in the corner. Thankfully, it never escalated beyond that, though Sookie was certain that it would have eventually—given the fact that he had been doing more and more each time he babysat her from the time she was eight to the time she was ten. 

Even at her young age—before Uncle Bartlett was incarcerated for molesting Sookie’s cousin Hadley—Sookie had known that what he was doing was wrong, but she’d never spoken of it. Not even when her father asked Sookie about Uncle Bartlett after the pedophile’s arrest did she say anything about what he’d done. That would have angered her mother, so Sookie lied and told her daddy that she’d never been alone with Uncle Bartlett and that she’d only seen him when she was with her mother and Jason watching cartoons in the living room. 

Of course, almost everything about her story was a fabrication, given the fact that Sookie was not allowed to watch television when her father wasn’t at home—unless, of course, her mother was “testing” her lip-reading ability. The only true thing about the story was that she hadn’t seen Bartlett in her bedroom—because her eyes had been fixed into the corner. 

By the time she was eleven or so, Sookie had become so good at appearing normal in her classes that her teachers no longer found anything to complain to her mother about. That was also why she’d perfected what became known as her “crazy Susan smile” so that her teachers wouldn’t call her mother to say that they thought she was maladjusted. “Maladjustment” got Sookie slaps and the corner and the chair. And two notices from the same teacher meant that she would receive a spanking with the belt as well. So Sookie learned to smile so that she could fool the person who was potentially her worst enemy—a teacher who actually cared enough to want to talk to Michelle Stackhouse. 

Beginning in Kindergarten, the other children in school were wary of her—as children often are of “different” things. More and more, Sookie had to read their lips to “hear” them, and their reaction was to make fun of her for “staring like a retard.” Eventually, she learned to watch without being seen, by using her peripheral vision or by just sitting in the back corner of the room. 

At twelve years of age, she even made a friend, a girl named Tara Thornton, who was also made an outcast by the other students. Tara’s mother had been put in jail for public drunkenness, and that had set off the kids’ radar to tease her. 

But Sookie had been brave one day and had stepped in, giving the kids a “better” target to taunt. So they’d left Tara alone. Whenever she saw Tara being teased during lunch or recess after that, Sookie would step out of the shadows and into the line of fire. At first, Tara had joined in with the other kids’ taunting of Sookie, but Sookie was used to the abuse, so she didn’t mind. Even as a pre-teen, she recognized that Tara was teased less when she was one of the teasers. Sookie couldn’t blame the girl. 

A few months later, Tara stopped participating with the others. And a few months after that, Sookie received a note from the girl—a note offering friendship. After that, the two girls had secretly met in the woods during the weekends since their houses were close to each other’s. Sookie would grab books and snacks from the kitchen and would leave the house on Saturdays before her mother woke up. She’d stay in the woods until her dad was due home, and Tara would often join her at the big boulder that Sookie liked to sit on in order to take in the sun. 

Sookie hadn’t even minded that Tara didn’t want to be seen with her at school. After all, the kids had finally “forgotten” about Tara’s situation, and Sookie was always fun for them to toy with, given the fact that she could hear nothing that they said behind her back.

As Sookie got older, Michelle stopped making her endure the corner punishment as often; instead, Michelle would make Sookie do most of the cleaning and the cooking, but Sookie didn’t mind that so much, especially since Michelle was often out and Jason was always with friends. 

Between the time that her uncle went to jail and her fourteenth birthday, life became a tolerable routine for Sookie. However, the day before she turned 14, her father died of a massive heart attack. Michelle blamed Sookie for her father’s death, saying that she had been the one responsible for all his extra stress and work. 

And for two long years after that, Sookie’s life was pure misery. She went to school and to church, but other than that, she was trapped at home—this time with her mother present. Sookie was no longer allowed to leave the house on Saturdays. Instead, she was forced by her mother to take care of all the cooking and the housework, since Michelle no longer needed to keep up appearances when Corbett was home. Meanwhile Michelle drank away Corbett’s life insurance money. 

During this time, Michelle would often yell at Sookie while shaking her so that she could “hear” her words. And, of course, these were the years of Michelle’s “special punishments.” The incident with Rene was just one of them. 

Another was the day that Michelle forced Sookie to open and then burn the birthday present that her father had bought for her before he died. It was a charm bracelet. After it was charred and partially melted in the fire, Michelle made Sookie put its remains in the trash. 

Meanwhile, Jason grew up loved and confident—arrogant even. He was a wonderful athlete and beloved by everyone in school. He was the kind of student who could charm a teacher into giving him a passing grade even if he didn’t earn one.

Though very smart, Sookie quickly learned that getting grades that were too good was bad because it made Jason look bad. So Sookie forced herself to be a C student, missing questions on purpose in order to maintain that average. Despite her classmates and her self-imposed mediocrity, however, Sookie loved the refuge of school. 

Things changed for the better when Sookie was sixteen. Michelle began dating Mac Rattray, who was more than happy to embrace Jason, but more than a little nervous about being around “Crazy Susan.” 

A few months later, Sookie came home to find that her clothing had been packed up and she was being sent to live with Adele Stackhouse, her father’s mother. Adele—or Gran as Sookie was asked to call her—was newly returned to Bon Temps after living in New Orleans with her late husband Earl. Sookie had apparently met her paternal grandparents several times when she was an infant, but she didn’t remember them. There had been some kind of falling out between Corbett and his parents, and they’d not been to Bon Temps for years. Sookie had “met” her grandmother for the first time outside of a grocery store, though she’d not known that they were related at the time. 

Michelle had told Sookie to mind the older woman as if her word was the law and warned of the consequences if she didn’t do so. Sookie was to help take care of Adele in her old age and secure the inheritance of the Stackhouse money so that it would come to Michelle.

Michelle also warned Sookie not to “get too comfortable,” threatening that—at any minute—she might be forced to return home. And—of course—Sookie had been told to say nothing about how things were in Michelle Stackhouse’s household.

So, understandably, Sookie had entered Gran’s house on eggshells. And when Gran had shown her maternal love, Sookie hadn’t really known what to do except smile her crazy smile and wait for the other shoe to drop. But it never had. Gran had—with her warmth—eventually helped Sookie to feel “safe” in her home—or at least as safe as she could feel. 

There were still sleepless nights as Sookie looked into the dark and imagined her mother waiting to take her away from Gran. There was still the impulse in Sookie to do everything perfectly—to not cause any trouble whatsoever—so that Gran wouldn’t send her away. But her life at Gran’s was exponentially better nonetheless. 

The summer she turned seventeen, Gran took her to a doctor in Nashville who specialized in hearing problems. Things moved quickly after that when the doctor said that new technology had been developed which made Sookie’s hearing problem operable. And—even though Michelle had, at first, fought Sookie’s getting surgery because it was a “waste of money”—she eventually agreed to sign the consent form after a long talk was had between Gran and her. Gran had paid for the surgery. And Sookie suspected that Gran had paid Michelle to sign the form too. 

Not surprisingly, Michelle had not come to the hospital when Sookie had her surgery; Gran had. So Gran’s voice was the first one that Sookie was able to put into her memory after more than a decade of little more than buzzing, whirring, throbbing noise. 

It was a beautiful sound. 

By the time Sookie could hear again, Jason was already at LSU on a scholarship for football. Right before her senior year began—right after the surgery—Michelle said that she wanted Sookie to move home, but by then, Gran had intuited a lot of what had happened to Sookie as a child, even though Sookie never spoke of it. 

Gran made a deal with Michelle—a deal that the teen didn’t know the details of. But the end result was that Michelle agreed to let Sookie stay with Gran. 

Although she was once more among the hearing, Sookie was still stigmatized by the kids during her senior year of high school, though it wasn’t as bad as it had been before. It seemed that old habits died hard for everyone involved. They still relied on Sookie for an easy target, and Sookie still relied on lip reading to “hear.” 

Moreover, regaining her sense of hearing came with problems all its own. It took her a long time, for instance, to become used to the jumbled noises of a crowd, and that was what high school consisted of: a never-ending series of jumbled noises. 

However, Sookie made it through, and Tara was free to be more of a public friend to her. Lafayette, Tara’s cousin, soon joined their small circle after he came out of the closet. So Sookie found herself with two friends—two!—during her senior year. She also had a new nickname from Gran: Sookie. Tara and Lafayette called her that too. And the new name made Sookie feel almost new—at least sometimes. 

 

Sookie was shaken from her thoughts as she saw that the subway was nearing her stop. She teetered a little on her higher-than-usual heels and walked toward the door, even as she looked at the people around her. Finding no potential threats from the words she saw coming from their mouths, she relaxed a little and then exited the subway. It was only a one block walk to her apartment, but she hurried nonetheless, both because of the hour and the cold. 

Sookie was glad that no lights were on as she approached the house. That meant that Amelia wasn’t home. Quickly, Sookie went inside, locked up, and went to her bathroom. She took off her scarf and put it into the sink, along with a little laundry detergent. She said a little prayer that her mascara stains hadn’t set. Then she went into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. 

Amelia had become a friend to Sookie—her only one in New York. But Sookie knew that Amelia would question her about the party, and she didn’t really know what to say about it. 

She didn’t really even know what to think about it! 

Her thoughts went back to Eric Northman. He had kissed her! 

And he’d talked to her and he’d held her hand. And then he accused her of being a spy when she shared information that she’d gleaned because of her ability to read lips, an ability that Amelia didn’t even know about.

How could she share any of that with Amelia?

Oh—and, of course, there was the other news of the night—from the conversation she’d “overheard” between Sam and Pam. But it was just more of the usual. Everyone in her office thought she was a freak and wanted her gone, but since she was good at her job, she wasn’t going to be fired—only moved to a private office near the elevators so that no one would ever have to see her. And that was only if she still had a job. Eric might have been planning to fire her even then—or maybe the police were on their way to arrest her for insider trading or spying or God only knew what. 

She looked at her bedside clock. It was after midnight, and—even with the time difference—it was too late to call Gran. And what would she tell her even if she could call? “Hello—I might be arrested soon. I just wanted to say goodbye.” In the end, Sookie decided that it would be best not to bother Gran. 

She bit her lip. She could call Lafayette, but he was likely working. And she didn’t even have Tara’s number anymore. Tara had broken all ties with her at their high school graduation when Sookie had warned her friend not to trust the man she was dating, Mickey. Tara had been in love with him, but Sookie had “overheard” him speaking to one of his friends about his plans to start “putting Tara in her place” once she finally gave up her virginity to him. When Sookie had said something to her friend, Tara had accused her of lying and being jealous. 

And that was it for their friendship. 

She’d almost lost Lafayette in the situation too—since Lafayette was Tara’s cousin, but he’d agreed to keep up their friendship as long as Tara didn’t know about it. When Mickey did begin to abuse Tara to the point that she separated from him, Sookie tried to reconnect with her first friend, but Tara had declined the olive branch. That had been more than six years before. 

Not having anyone to call about her situation, Sookie sat on her bed and removed the black pearl earrings she was wearing. They’d been Gran’s—given to Sookie when she got her Master’s Degree the year before. Getting them had given her an excuse to get her ears pierced. The earrings were the only truly valuable thing Sookie owned—at least in a monetary sense—so Sookie carefully returned the jewels to their pouch and then placed them into her nightstand. 

Next, she slid off her heels and put them into her closet. She took off her dress and carefully hung it up after determining that it didn’t need to be dry-cleaned yet. Her fancy and no-line-generating bra soon met the laundry basket, and she slipped into flannel sleep pants and a long sleeve T-shirt since her room was a little chilly in the winter. She also put on some thick socks and wondered if the police would let her grab a sweatshirt and shoes if they came for her. Deciding they might not, she went ahead and put back on her bra and a sweatshirt. She placed her tennis shoes next to the bed. She contemplated sleeping with them on, but finally decided to go for comfort over practicality in this one case. 

She knew that she should have brushed her teeth, but for once, she skipped the habit since she still tasted Eric a little. Heck—to be honest—her lips still tingled from his kiss, and she wasn’t about to waste that, whether she was headed for jail-time or not. She turned off her overhead light and took a deep breath as she looked at her nightlights; she had one in every electrical outlet. She’d never been good at sleeping, especially after her father died. Several times, she’d woken up to find her mother watching her as she slept. Sometimes she wondered if Michelle Stackhouse had contemplated killing her in the dark. 

When she’d been unable to hear, Sookie knew that people could sneak up on her. And that thought frightened her more than almost anything. But even after she’d regained her hearing, she was afraid to sleep in the dark. 

As she lay back, she allowed her kiss with Eric to replay again and again in her mind before she went to sleep. She decided to worry about the fact that she likely didn’t have a job anymore on Monday morning—or when the police came. 

Whatever happened first.


	8. On the Outside

Chapter 8: On the Outside

Last Time: As she lay back, she allowed her kiss with Eric to replay again and again in her mind before she went to sleep. She decided to worry about the fact that she likely didn’t have a job anymore on Monday morning—or when the police came. 

Whatever happened first. 

 

Sunday, January 15, 2012

When Sookie woke up the following morning, she was happy to find herself still in her own bed, rather than in a jail cell—or a padded cell for that matter. She grabbed her bathroom bag, her towel, and her robe, and then she went across the hall to her bathroom; it was also the guest bathroom, which was why she kept her personal items out of it.

She quickly went to the bathroom, showered, combed and dried her hair, brushed her teeth, and put her hair into a ponytail. She managed to avoid her eyes in the mirror the whole time. 

Her bathroom requirements met, Sookie cleaned up after herself and returned her things to her room, making sure to hang up her wet towel on the hook on her closet door. Then, she dressed in her usual Sunday clothing for winter: blue jeans, a long-sleeve T-shirt, thick socks, and a sweater. She had quickly learned—especially given the thinness of her coat—that layers were a must in New York during the winter. 

She sighed. Part of her wanted to cancel her usual “date” of going to the MET, but she had been looking forward to visiting Gallery 111 since she’d picked that number out of her jar the day before. The gallery housed some Egyptian art from 1800 to 1500 B.C., and she’d promised a report on the gallery to Gran too, so she put on her tennis shoes and grabbed her coat. 

Amelia was—again—nowhere to be found, so Sookie left a quick note in the kitchen and then headed back toward the subway. Truth be told, the note was as much for the police—if they came looking for her—as it was for her housemate, given the fact that Amelia usually didn’t come home on Sundays until almost midnight. 

Sookie got off at her stop at a little after 9:00 and walked the few blocks to the MET. The coffee shop across the street provided her breakfast, which consisted of a blackberry scone and a small latte. Though the morning air was cool, the sun was out and warm, so she sat on the steps outside the museum. As she ate her treat, she watched the tourist families milling around as they waited for the museum to open. 

As usual, the tourists were all anxious to get into the MET, which opened at 9:30 on Sundays. The family closest to her consisted of four members: parents and two little girls skipping around on the steps excitedly. Sookie smiled and closed her eyes. She swore for the millionth time that if she was ever to have a child, she would love him or her unconditionally. She was frightened of passing down her hearing problem, which had been connected to genetics, but she was determined to protect her child if she ever had one. Meanwhile, she just enjoyed the sounds of the kids playing and climbing up and down the steps as their parents watched over them. 

She closed her eyes and let herself indulge in her usual fantasy. In it, she was sitting exactly where she was now, but she was not alone. A family surrounded her. However, this time—instead of a faceless, amorphous man—she saw Eric in her daydream. He was holding a blond-haired, blue-eyed infant who looked just like him. Two other similar-looking children milled around them—all smiling at her. She smiled back at them and felt her throat tighten at their beauty. She looked down at the hand of the fantasy her and saw that it was enclosed in Eric’s larger hand. She could feel the warmth of it, though that feeling was probably from the coffee she was holding. Regardless, she let herself imagine that it was from his encompassing touch. 

She even let herself like it. Of course, she didn’t let herself hope it. The daydream lasted only for a few moments before memories of her mother telling her that she would never find anyone stupid enough to want her entered into her mind. Sookie’s eyes popped open and focused on the cup of coffee that was truly warming her hand. She put it down for a moment, just so that she could get the fantasy out of her head. She noticed that the family that she’d been watching was gone now; thus, the museum must have opened. 

“All pretend,” she said to herself, mouthing the words, rather than giving them any volume. Her indulgences into fantasy always ended the same way—with her mother’s voice pointing out their impossibility—but Sookie usually didn’t feel loss as they slipped away; however, for the first time, she felt a sense of longing in a part of herself that she didn’t even know existed until she felt the warmth of Eric’s hand the night before. His touch had been a spark, but now she felt the fire dying. Too soon. 

“All pretend,” she said to herself once more. 

Sookie shook herself out of her thoughts and finished her latte; she indulged in “eating out” only once a week—for her Sunday breakfasts and lunches—so she was determined to enjoy the moment. As soon as she was done, she got up and went into the museum. 

She’d come to know the Sunday morning guards—at least the two who were always at the front door—and she handed them a bag of their favorite treats from the coffee shop. As her weekly assignment from Claudine suggested, she spent a few seconds speaking with the two, whose names were John and Milos. 

Then she headed for her destination, taking out her small composition book and pen as she went. She knew right where she was going, having been to the MET so many times. However, it had not been long before that the massive museum had overwhelmed her. 

Using portions of her first and second paychecks from NP, Sookie had been able to buy a year-long pass to the MET on March 6, 2011. She’d spent her first day roaming around aimlessly, her mind eventually becoming fatigued by all that she was seeing. After that, she developed a plan: one gallery per Sunday. She started with the ten Northman galleries, and then she wrote down all the numbers of the active galleries on slips of paper, which she’d pull out of a jar each Saturday. She also kept her eye open for temporary exhibits she was interested in. She would prioritize those so that she wouldn’t miss them. 

Her composition book was for notes regarding the pieces she liked and wanted to remember for some reason or another. Her phone, which also served as her camera, would be pulled out only once during the day. From every gallery—no matter how big or small—she always took only a single picture. She took it of the piece that most struck her—not necessarily her favorite, but the one that stood out to her the most. When Sookie had told Claudine about her project the first week they’d spoken, her therapist had encouraged her to continue doing it and had asked about Sookie’s chosen piece each subsequent Tuesday—except for the week after Christmas, since the MET had been closed that Sunday.

That week, Gallery 111 was on Sookie’s agenda. As usual, she took all morning perusing the gallery, but by lunchtime, she had narrowed down her “favorites” to two items. The first was from the Twelfth Dynasty—a sculpture of a wildcat. She was drawn to the cat for a simple reason: she had always wanted a pet. Jason had had several puppies as he’d grown up, but Sookie was punished if she touched them. She had always wondered, however, what it would be like to give affection to and to receive affection from an animal. Jason had seemed to love his dogs—and they him. Unfortunately, Amelia was allergic to cats, so that eliminated Sookie’s opportunity to have one as long as she lived with Amelia.

Then again, there was another piece in the gallery that was tugging at her too. It was called a “magic wand” and had been made out of a hippopotamus tusk. She liked all the carvings in the object, as well as the meaning behind it.

By 12:25, she was done with her first walk-through of the room, even though she hadn’t yet picked her “favorite” for the day. 

Unless it was raining, Sookie always left the MET to get lunch in the park before returning to the same gallery in the afternoon so that she could enjoy the art one last time and then take her picture. However, that Sunday, she broke her routine. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked to the south of the building, where she would find the European paintings and the Northman Galleries. She made her way to Gallery 823 and stood in front of Wheat Field with Cypresses. She studied the painting for several minutes, first the gold of the wheat and then the blue of the sky. 

She let her mind rove to the blues of Eric’s eyes and then—once again—she let herself relive her kiss with Eric.

It had been the single best moment of her life.

And that thought scared her on so many levels. Sookie’s needs—both physical and emotional—had always been few. She’d grown up in a world where “happiness” wasn’t permitted to her, though she’d had moments that were better than others. For instance, her daddy was always nice to her, but Sookie had known that if she got too close to him or if he spent too much time with her, then her mother would get angry. And that meant she’d be put into the corner when he wasn’t there, so Sookie kept to herself, even around him. Still—his being in the house was like a reprieve for her. She could read without disturbance and even quietly sit in the living room and watch television with the family—the mother, the father, and their son. 

Her daddy even tried to include her to a certain extent by making sure that the television was on “closed captions” when he was home. Her mother hated when he did that. But Sookie loved it. That small action proved that he cared for her. And it helped her to become a fast and exact reader too. 

Moving to Gran’s house had offered her so many more pleasant experiences. Gran loved to bake, and she taught Sookie all she knew. And the level of freedom Sookie got at Gran’s was incredible! She was able to go into any room she wanted and watch television whenever she liked. She was even able to choose programs to watch, though she always deferred to Gran when she was at home. When she wasn’t, however, Sookie chose what to watch, and she wasn’t punished for having the television on when Gran was gone, which was another big change for her. 

No longer afraid of her mother’s punishments for excelling and because of Gran’s encouragement, Sookie was able to improve her grades from straight C’s to straight B’s during her senior year. Getting out of the habit of underachieving completely had taken her a bit longer to do.

The best thing that happened at school, however, was that the teacher who directed the high school’s newspaper asked Sookie to be the copy editor after the person who had been doing it abruptly quit. That was her first copy editing job. She also excelled on the SAT, which was how she found herself with a full scholarship to the University of Mississippi—since her overall GPA was mediocre at best. Once more encouraged by Gran, she’d left Bon Temps, even though she was sorry to leave Gran. 

Getting away from a place where she had been stigmatized helped Sookie to start a better life. As would be expected, she was socially stunted, and she still had the propensity to read lips, instead of to listen to others with her ears, which made her seem a little “off” to those around her. Not really knowing much about how to talk to people or to make friends, Sookie hadn’t fit in with the people in her classes. Still—they didn’t know about her history, so it was better. The best thing was that none of them bullied her. Many of her classmates gossiped about her “strangeness,” and Sookie could tell that none of them really liked her that much, but mostly, they just ignored her. 

Working steadily, Sookie finished her bachelor’s degree in four years, and Dr. Dekker helped her to stay to get her master’s degree in English. After that, she was pretty certain that she would have gotten her doctorate degree because she loved being a student, as well as reading and analyzing texts. During her sophomore year at Old Miss, she decided on her career goal: copy editing. It wasn’t a glamorous job—by any means. But it still made Sookie “happy” to know that she was good at something. 

It was during her first year of graduate school that she met Bill Compton, and she could point to some of her times in that relationship as being “happy” too. Despite the way their relationship ended, she had enjoyed being part of a couple. She had all of her “firsts” with Bill too. The first time she held hands, it was with him. The first time a guy kissed her, it was him. The first time she had sex, it was with him. The first time a guy told her that he loved her, it was him. 

When Bill asked to travel to Bon Temps with her to meet her family, Sookie had been terrified—afraid that her mother would tell Bill something that would make him not want her anymore. Sookie had already told Bill that she could read lips, and he knew that she’d been deaf for much of her life. He even knew that her relationship with her mother was strained. But she’d never spoken about what her childhood was like in any detail. Of course, Bill and Sookie stayed at Gran’s, and the elderly woman had approved of his Southern manners immediately. More surprising was the fact that her mother had approved of him. Bill had insisted that they go out to eat with Michelle once during their visit, and she had treated Sookie “nice” during the meal. 

Being with Bill had made Sookie “happy”—maybe not the kind of happy that she’d read about in fairy tales or love stories. But it was a kind of satisfaction. She’d thought that he cared for her, and that was something she’d rarely experienced. So she’d fallen in love with Bill—at least as much as she was able to love. 

How could she not? 

But everything changed when she learned the truth about why he had pursued her from the start. So every happy memory she had with him had suddenly become something to question and doubt.

She sighed. If she was being honest with herself, there had always been something “off” about Bill. Her instincts had sent warning bells to her from the day she met him. She had spent her life studying people, and Bill seemed “too perfect”—“too careful.” Looking back, she realized that he hardly ever had a conversation with someone beyond the weather, sports, or politics when she was in range to “read” him. And—most significantly—Bill’s lips often curved in unexpected ways when he spoke to her. 

When he would tell her that he loved her, she would read hesitation and something akin to guilt in the way his mouth would curve downward a bit. When she would try to initiate any kind of physical affection, his upper lip would rise for just a second, signifying contempt; however, when he initiated their physical interaction, it would not. There was caution in the rate at which his words flowed from his mouth. Sookie had chosen to ignore these things, rejecting the tell-tale signals that her years of reading lips had enabled her to see. She comforted herself with the knowledge that the shape of his mouth never indicated pity or anger, and sometimes there was a softness to his expression that she decided must be love. 

So she had loved him back—giving him every single piece of her heart that she had been working to excavate since she’d left her mother’s house. She ignored any reservations she felt and tried to “be” a woman that he would want—to act like the “genteel Southern girl” he seemed to desire for her to be. Even when Lafayette visited her once and told her that he’d seen Bill being “a little too cozy” with another woman, Sookie had let Bill explain that situation away. Of course, when Sookie learned the true, her heart had become buried in rubble again.

So—yes. She’d had a lot of nice moments in her life: with her daddy, with Gran, with Bill, with Lafayette, with Tara, with Amelia, and even alone on her boulder and at the MET. 

But her short time with Eric had moved like a rocket to the top of the list. His mouth had lifted and curved and fallen and straightened in ways that completely matched his words. But for the first time that she could remember, her focus was not on his lips. It was on his eyes, which had been powerful enough both to connect her to him and to keep her connected. 

His eyes—both before and after their kiss—had been open to her. Honest. She wasn’t sure she had liked everything she had seen in them, but she liked the fact that nothing had been hidden. Nothing was held back. The kiss itself had literally changed her life. One minute she was a girl who didn’t really understand intense passion; the next she wasn’t. One minute she was a girl who had never been kissed by a guy who truly desired her—just her. The next she was such a girl. 

Oh—she wasn’t about to believe that Eric Northman had loved her at first sight. After thinking about it on the subway ride to the MET, she was pretty certain about what would have happened between her and Eric. Her fantasies notwithstanding, everything seemed clearer and crueler in the cold light of day. 

For whatever reason—maybe novelty—Eric had desired her. He would have had her too. She would not have denied him. She could almost see herself gathering her clothing for a quick exit in the early morning hours in Eric’s bedroom or—more likely—the suite of some hotel. Or the backseat of a limo. Or maybe even just a stairway at the MET. In actuality, she had no idea where men like Eric had sex, but she was quite certain that she would have found out the night before if she hadn’t “overheard” de Castro and Madden speaking. 

Sookie could envision herself making her way to the subway station nearest to where she’d ended up with him. She could see herself traveling home on an almost-empty subway due to the late hour. She wondered if Eric would have even remembered the name he’d fought to pull from her the night before. At least, he wasn’t likely to forget it now, she thought, as she left Gallery 823. 

 

Earlier that morning

Eric Northman stared at Sookie Stackhouse from across the street. He could see only a sliver of her profile, but—even with her golden hair in a ponytail—he felt certain that he would have recognized her anywhere. 

He had only one question: Why? Of course, that question applied to about a million different topics in that moment. 

Eric had not intended to return to the MET that morning, but at 5:00 a.m., when he finally decided that sleep wasn’t going to come, he got up, showered, dressed for the day, and left his home in the Upper West Side. He’d walked east, slowly strolling the blocks until he entered Central Park at West 90th Street. He walked along the south side of the Jackie O. Reservoir and exited the park at East 84th Street just north of the MET. 

He’d walked unhurriedly for hours, and he’d not even registered his destination until he was standing in front of it. He approached the MET entrance and saw that the doors would not open until 9:30. Since it was only 8:30, he decided to grab a coffee and something to eat at a nearby coffee shop.

He had almost been done with his enormous cup of coffee and his newspaper when Sookie walked into the coffee shop, her cheeks reddened from the cold and her pony tail swinging slightly with the sway of her hips. 

She had taken his breath away.

Eric had made sure that he was out of sight behind his newspaper as Sookie’s eyes scanned the side of the shop that he was in. He watched her order a coffee and three pastries and then leave the store. 

As if compelled to do so, he had followed her. And now he was watching her like some kind of fucking stalker from across the street. He told himself that it was only because he was suspicious of her, but—in truth—he was intrigued by her. Fascinated.


	9. A Cancer

Chapter 9: A Cancer

As Eric watched Sookie, he quickly realized that her eyes were sharp, and she kept herself well-aware of her surroundings, so—even from across the wide avenue—avoiding her gaze was difficult, especially since he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Even though he was wearing clothing that helped him to blend in and a dark gray skull cap, which hid his blond hair, at 6’4”, Eric stood out from a crowd. Once Sookie settled onto one of the steps of the MET and began to eat, however, she focused more on the people near her, so Eric was able to cross the street and get closer. 

Plus, Eric was well-versed in the practice of being unseen when he wanted to be, so he did what he did best. He kept to the shadows and studied the woman who had so captivated him. He needed to find out what made her tick. He needed to find out how she could hurt him. He needed to find out why he wanted to trust her.

Why?

Only three people in the world had his trust—and they only had it to a certain extent.

The first was his grandmother—Mormor. Elsa Larsson was his mother’s mother. As a child, Eric had spent his summers with her and his morfar, who had died of cancer when Eric was seventeen. Eric still visited his mormor each summer, and he loved her—as much as he dared to love anyone. He knew that he held back when it came to giving and receiving affection, but he’d learned long ago that holding back was the safest way to operate in the world—for the benefit of both himself and, especially, those around him. Despite this, however, Mormor had always been kind to him, and he would do anything to make sure that she was taken care of.

The second person he trusted—at least to an extent—was his sister, Pam. Pam was the only one of his siblings who shared both parents with him. She and Nora were the same age and had grown up together as “real” siblings, while Eric had been in boarding school most of the time. However, Pam had always spent two weeks of each summer in Sweden too. And the siblings had become closer there. She didn’t know much about Eric’s relationship with Appius; truth be told, Eric got the idea that she didn’t want to know. She loved their father, and Appius clearly loved her, so Eric kept many things from Pam because he didn’t want to lose her friendship. But—despite his reluctance to share certain things with her—he and Pam were becoming closer all the time. Pam had actually approached him with the idea that they live in the same building, so they’d bought homes a just floor apart in one of Copley Carmichael’s newer high-rises on the Upper West Side near the Hudson. Hell—he’d even trusted Pam with decorating some of his home when they’d moved into their building the year before. 

However, the person that Eric probably trusted the most in the world was Bobby Burnham. He’d known Bobby from the time that he was six and Bobby was ten. Bobby had been the son of Godric Burnham, who was the headmaster at the first boarding school Eric had been sent to. In truth, Bobby was more of a sibling to Eric than any of his own were, and in many ways, the Burnhams had been his family more than the Northmans. But it was also true that Eric held back in that friendship too. 

In fact, for the last few years, Eric’s relationship with Bobby had been as much about business as it was personal. Again—Eric understood that there was more “safety” in that kind of arrangement. Thus—despite any protests that Bobby made—Eric insisted upon paying his friend for any work he did for him. Bobby was a lawyer by trade—and a good one—but Eric was his only “official” client. Bobby had received a rather sizeable inheritance when Godric died and didn’t need to have his own law practice. Hell—he probably didn’t need to work at all. 

However, Bobby still made plenty of money. In addition to working for Eric, Bobby did freelance work for the police and the FBI and sometimes even for the more “legitimate” facets of the mob—the ones that the FEDS were happy to “work with through channels” so that the overall peace was kept. Bobby was one of those “channels.” To tell the truth, Eric didn’t ask questions about the things that Bobby did; plus, he knew that Bobby couldn’t answer them anyway. 

Despite over a quarter of a century of something akin to brotherhood, there were many things that Eric kept from Bobby about Appius. By necessity, Bobby knew more than anyone else; however, Eric was wary about letting anyone too close. 

At a very young age, he had learned that those who were too close to him tended to die or to be taken away. And—irrational or not—Eric truly believed that if he allowed himself to love anyone, then that person would be damaged in some way because of his love. Too many people who had cared for him had suffered from prolonged illnesses for Eric to think otherwise; after all, his mother and both of his grandfathers had died after long battles with cancer. A large part of Eric didn’t believe that was coincidence; he believed it was because those people had come to care for him too much. Others had abandoned Eric or withheld their affection from him long before he could infect them with whatever plague he carried inside. He could not blame them for wanting to keep their distance. And for those who didn’t abandon him—Eric held himself back, hoping to protect them. 

Eric closed his eyes. The first person to be taken from him had been his mother—someone whom he could hardly remember. Stella Larsson-Northman had—by all accounts—been the darling of the upper echelon of New York society. She’d been tall and modelesque, setting fashion and social trends for the rest of her class. Even as she was being eaten up with breast cancer just two years after Pam was born, it was said that she was still the picture of poise and grace. And she was throwing parties and attending events until almost the end, according to his paternal grandmother, Grace Northman. And that was saying a lot, given the fact that Grace very rarely praised anyone, except for her son, Appius. 

Eric’s first stepmother was Appius’s age and brought with her a stepsister for Pam and Eric—Nora. Nora was officially still a Gainesborough, just like her biological father, but Appius Northman had immediately preferred her to his other children. Hell—she even looked more like him because of her dark hair and eyes. Pam and especially Eric had taken after their mother with their Nordic looks. 

Nora’s mother, Beth Mellon-Gainesborough, had been a widow and was quite rich in her own right. Together, they had Alexei, who was the very definition of a wild child. Appius now preferred for Alexei to stay in Europe, where he had a “handler” who kept him out of serious trouble. When others asked, Appius liked to say that Alexei was “sewing his wild oats as a young man should.” But the truth was that Appius was embarrassed by Alexei. 

Though it was not a love match, Appius stayed married to Beth because of Nora. However, Eric knew that his father was not terribly upset when his second wife died in a car accident in Vail. He’d been more upset that Nora had been injured in the accident. 

Beth Gainesborough-Northman had served her purpose, adding to his Appius Northman’s coffers and his notoriety. And she’d also given him Nora, but there were no illusions of love between the two of them.

In fact, women were not really his father’s preference; however, that information was not acknowledged publically. Appius’s fourth wife, Sophie-Anne was the perfect choice for what most people would call a “beard.” Sophie-Anne was from a wealthy New York family, the Leclerqs. She preferred women, but she had also wanted to be wife to a power-player in Manhattan. And she was a master socialite, particularly good at party throwing. Plus, she loved being the center of attention—whether it be at a charity event she was hosting or at the opera. Despite her sexual preferences, Sophie-Anne had wanted children, and she’d already given Appius a son, Appius Junior, a child whom his father had felt was worthy of his own name. 

Appius enjoyed letting Eric know that he was thankful every day that he’d not given his first son his name. Appius made it clear that he didn’t feel that Eric merited such a moniker. His father had also made it clear to Eric that even after he took over as CEO in a few years, he would be running Northman Publishing only until Appius Junior was ready to run the company. 

Eric couldn’t really complain, however. He already knew that he would become CEO when he turned 35, and he was looking forward to running NP as he wanted to. Moreover, he was not ambitious in the same way that Appius was. He didn’t seek power for its own sake. Most of the time, Eric was not even certain what “power” was, and he’d certainly never felt “powerful.” 

Despite all of this, however, Eric was a good businessman—excellent, in fact. Most of the people he worked with would call him a “natural.” From his grandfathers, he’d inherited a mind well-suited for constructing deals that benefitted all parties involved. While Appius did business by sheer force of will and sometimes intimidation, Eric drew clients to him using reason and mutual respect. 

Appius, of course, hated everything about the way Eric operated his division of the company—except for, perhaps, the profits. 

Business had not been Eric’s first choice for his life, but it hadn’t been a choice he’d hated either. When he was younger, he’d been more drawn to architecture and to building things, but he’d settled for constructing deals instead of skyscrapers. 

Of course, Eric had never had much say in his own life’s plans. He’d been told that he would go to Harvard Business School, so he had gone. He’d been told that he would marry before he turned 35, so he would marry—though he was still determined to choose who and exactly when he married, even though there were restrictions about the choice he could make. He’d been told that he would have children to carry on the Northman name, so he would, even though Eric was not too keen on having children. The prospect of raising them in his world made him physically ill. 

It wasn’t even that Eric didn’t like kids; as a matter of fact, he did. Though he didn’t dare love them, he liked all of his siblings very much, except for—perhaps—Nora, whom he still tried to get along with. However, he was afraid to be a father. He wasn’t sure how to be one, and he never wanted a child of his to feel as insignificant or unworthy as Appius had made him feel. Plus, he was worried that he would pass along whatever it had been which had caused his mother to die and his father to despise him. When Eric was only six, his father had told him that the cancer which killed his mother had first entered her body when she was pregnant with Eric. And though his mother had received treatment after Eric had been born, which had kept the sickness at bay for several more years, it had eventually come back to infect her again and then kill her. In effect, Appius had told the child that he was the reason his mother had died, and the little boy had—of course—believed him and internalized the blame. 

As an adult, Eric knew that he should question the veracity of the notion that he had been the cause of his mother’s cancer, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that. After all, even his mormor had confirmed when the diagnosis had taken place: during the seventh month of Stella’s pregnancy. She had waited until Eric was born—carrying him to full term—before she even thought about receiving treatment. Eric knew that Mormor had told him this story so that he would know just how much his mother had loved him, but it made Eric feel even guiltier. Even though Stella had gone into remission and had even had another child, Eric couldn’t help but to wonder if he was the cause of her sickness and her eventual death—just as Appius had told him so many times over the years. Eric couldn’t help but to wonder if he was the cancer. 

Indeed, Eric worried that there was something inside of him that was rotten or defective, which was why he was leaning toward adopting any children that he had, rather than fathering them himself. Luckily, even though Appius required that Eric have children, he didn’t seem to care how they were produced, for Appius knew that Eric’s children would not be in line to inherit NP since Eric himself was not in line to inherit Appius’s stock in the company. Eric was actually grateful that NP would pass to Appius, Jr. one day. Eric was determined to give his children at least one thing that Appius had never given him when he was a child: the ability to choose. Even though he would be too afraid to give them his love, Eric would give them the opportunity to be what they wanted to be. And he was determined to pick a wife who could lavish the children with the love he couldn’t give. 

Eric sighed as he looked at a family near Sookie. Two little girls were playing on the steps of the MET as a mother and a father watched over them. The couple’s hands were gripped tightly together, and they were speaking to each other quietly, even as their eyes stayed mostly on their girls. Even from the distance he was at, Eric could see the love flowing between the members of the family. 

Eric imagined himself in such a scene. The woman he would be sitting next to wouldn’t matter in some ways; Eric hoped that she would be someone who would make a good friend and mother to his children. He couldn’t imagine speaking to her intimately or holding her hand as the couple he was looking at were doing. But he hoped that the children would still be running around with smiles on their faces. Yes—he hoped that very much. But most of all, he hoped that they would never become aware that he couldn’t truly love them. He would be able to show them his pride. And he would offer them unconditional support and encouragement in their pursuits. He would give them his time and his attention. But he didn’t want to risk damaging a child with his love. 

Eric closed his eyes for moment, and suddenly he felt warm—despite the January cold. The woman in his imagination took on the form of Sookie, and in his mind, she took his hand as well, and then she leaned her body into his. The children, faceless before then, looked back at him with Sookie’s eyes and light shining from them.

He recoiled and opened his eyes, instinctively flexing his hand and finding it empty.

“No,” Eric said in a whisper, not allowing himself to indulge in such an impossible fantasy for another second. “Empty,” he said to himself as he looked down at his hand. “It needs to stay empty.” 

Eric refocused. He would begin running NP when he was 35, and he would marry someone appropriate before then—someone who could not pull feelings from him. Someone safe. He took a deep breath. He would turn 31 in February. Thus, he had almost four years to do as he wished. And then he would live the life his father wished. Perhaps, Appius would even hate him a little less if he did. And, when Appius Jr. was ready, Eric would simply step away—just as was expected of him. 

“Yes,” he said to himself. “That is your life.” 

All that Appius demanded of Eric was that he continue building the company and increasing Appius, Jr.’s legacy, and—despite Eric’s original preference for doing something else—he had thrived on his work. He’d been better at it than he thought he would be, and he liked it more than he thought he would. Plus, there were now so many people counting on him—so many jobs that he was responsible for protecting. 

And when he had a family, he would protect them too. He just hoped that he could find a good wife who could settle for what he had to give. In many ways, he envied his father’s ability to find wives who were perfectly suited to his needs.

Eric sighed. In addition to providing Appius with an heir he could be proud of, Sophie-Anne had also been the perfect choice in a wife for him because she came with Andre, her older brother. In fact, Andre was Appius’s real bed partner most nights. Officially, Andre had a room down the hall from Appius’s, but that room was only used enough to supposedly fool the staff and some of the family. But Eric was good at observing things, and he knew that the real “marriage” in the Northman mansion belonged to Appius and Andre. Pam also knew, given the fact that she had been Sophie-Anne’s lover at one point—with Appius’s prior knowledge and approval, of course. 

Yes—Eric thought to himself—when it came to fucked up families, his was at the top of the list, especially given the fact that his father had tried to push for him to marry Nora—his own stepsister—just two years before. Eric shuddered a little, remembering how Appius had called him into his office and presented the idea to him. 

Eric had sensed for a while that Nora was interested in him, but she was his stepsister! And Eric had always viewed her as a sibling, despite the fact that Nora had been coming on to him for years. Even though they’d never spent much time together as kids, Eric had still felt ill when he thought of his own stepsister as a potential lover. Still—he’d cowed to Appius. He’d taken Nora out a few times, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything physical with her. 

However, that changed one night when Nora endeavored to get Eric drunk—very drunk. And then she’d tried to seduce him. The encounter had been a study in awkward agony for Eric. Even drunk, it had felt wrong to kiss and to touch Nora. And before the “act” could even get started, Eric’s body had rebelled and had simply stopped functioning, no matter how much Nora had tried to stroke him and suck him to get him hard.

He’d been grateful for his inability to perform and had been disgusted by what he had done with his stepsister as soon as he’d sobered up—which was several days later. 

The only redeeming consequence of that night had been that Nora finally decided that Eric was not up to snuff—not worth her pursuit. He’d never thought he’d be glad that he couldn’t get it up, but his limp cock had done him a great favor. 

Thankfully, Appius had dropped the matter once Nora lost interest in Eric. Truth be told, Appius was probably happy that the match hadn’t worked out. Eric couldn’t imagine that his father would truly be happy about his most treasured “daughter” marrying his most hated son. 

The truth was that Eric had been merely another of Nora’s relationships with somewhat taboo men; be they older, married, underage or her own stepbrother, Nora had a penchant for the forbidden. 

Eric figured that the only reason why Appius had allowed Nora to pursue the match at all—beyond her whim to “have” Eric—had been his desire for his stepdaughter to be a “Northman” officially. Many years before—while Beth was still alive—Appius had made a push to officially adopt Nora, but the Gainesborough family had shown their “displeasure” at the notion. So Appius had stopped his attempt. However, Eric knew that his father still wished that Nora carried his last name. If nothing else, a marriage to Eric could have made that happen. 

Eric sighed as he let himself focus on Sookie. Compared to his world, she seemed like pure light. The sunlight was bouncing off of her golden hair, making it even more beautiful than he’d thought possible. And she looked like an angel as she watched the people around her and ate her breakfast. 

He knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about her like that—or thinking about her at all. He knew that someone so radiant was too good for someone like him. 

“I could offer you nothing but misery,” he whispered to himself. 

Appius required that Eric marry into a family of “substance,” and given the condition of Sookie’s coat, which hardly seemed thick enough to keep the cold away, Sookie didn’t have much money at all. Seeing her shiver, Eric’s impulse was to go to her and wrap her up in his arms, but he shook that notion from his head.

“I could offer you nothing but misery,” he repeated. 

He was, after all, nothing but a cancer.


	10. Why?

Chapter 10: Why?

Eric sighed as he continued watching the object of his fascination. Appius didn’t care if Eric had any true affection for the person he married; in fact, it would likely satisfy his father more if Eric married someone who would make him miserable. That was likely why Appius was pushing that he marry Freyda de Castro, despite the fact that Eric had told him that the girl was obsessed and more than a little crazy. 

Eric tried not to think about the irony that he was suddenly obsessed and a little crazy when it came to the woman he was watching. He shook his head. No—he thought—he was simply trying to protect NP. He almost believed his own lie. 

To keep from dwelling on the fact that he was now officially a stalker—just like Freyda—he turned his thoughts to the beautiful brunette. When he’d first met her, Freyda de Castro had seemed like a run-of-the-mill spoiled socialite, and she’d been a tolerable fuck—certainly eager to please and be pleased, though a little on the bony side. A couple of weeks later, Eric had made a mistake in asking the girl to accompany him to a black-tie charity event; however, things had seemed normal that night too. They’d gone to the event, but had barely shared ten words with each other. After the party, they’d gone to Northman Tower for another bout of physical release. The only difference had been that Freyda asked that he take her to his home, instead of to the apartment at Northman Tower. But Eric never took women to his private residence. And he never would. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could be truly alone and at peace. At least most of the time, he could do what he wanted there, and he didn’t want a virtual stranger soiling that fact. 

A month later, Freyda came by his office and asked if he’d return the favor by going to a charity event with her. He’d almost accepted. However, right before he did, he caught a flicker in her eye that he didn’t like. It was a look of calculation, so he decided that it would be best to cut ties with Freyda de Castro. In truth, though Freyda was beautiful, she bored him. She didn’t seem that interested in—or perhaps capable of—carrying on a conversation with him, even about the kinds of casual topics that the rich enjoyed. At the event they’d attended together, he was her arm-candy, and she was his—not an unusual situation for Eric. But to continue such an arrangement, he needed to at least “like” the individual a little. 

For about a year, he’d enjoyed such a mutually-beneficial arrangement with Isabel Edgington—before she went to Paris to establish an arm of her father’s magazine in Europe. They’d been convenient dates for each other many times and convenient no-strings-attached sexual partners too. Whereas things were casual and interesting with Isabel, Eric had intuited that things had the potential to get complicated and messy with Freyda.

So Eric had ending things before that could happen—or so he’d thought. He’d been wrong. 

What Bobby called “Freyda’s crazy” started with her calling him every week to see if they could attend this or that function together. Always honest about his intentions toward women, Eric had already made it clear to her that he didn’t wish to continue their arrangement, a fact which he reminded her of every time she called. However, the calls eventually became even more frequent, and when Eric would be seen with someone else, Freyda left jealous rants on his voice mail when he no longer answered her calls. Then she began stalking him. After that, Eric asked Bobby to investigate Freyda, and his friend found out that she had become obsessed with a married man a couple of years before, and it had taken a restraining order to get her to back off. Eric hoped it didn’t come to that for him.

Appius had only complicated matters with Freyda. Not long after she began following him, she came to the office again. Eric had told her—yet again—that she was not welcome in his life. He’d tried to be gentle about it—reminding her that he had been open about what he wanted and didn’t want from her right from the beginning. She’d laughed his reminders off, claiming that he just didn’t see their potential like she did—yet. When Eric informed her that he knew that she’d been following him and that he would call in the authorities if the stalking and the calls didn’t stop, she’d snapped and raged at him for breaking her heart and disrespecting their “love.” Eric had called security to escort her out of the building. 

However, apparently Appius had been watching and listening to the encounter via the surveillance equipment he’d long-ago placed into Eric’s office, and he ordered the guards to deliver Freyda to him instead. Twenty minutes later, Eric had been ordered to Appius’s office where Freyda sat with a smug look on her face. Appius had told Eric that he should not only date Freyda but also marry her. 

For once, Eric had denied his father outright. However, after that Appius had become Freyda’s advocate at every turn. The year before, she had been invited—unbeknownst to Eric, of course—to the annual Father’s Day brunch that Eric was required to attend at Appius’s estate. Eric had left immediately, much to his father’s disapproval. Following that incident, Freyda had seemed to lose interest, but then—out of the blue—she’d announced to the press that she and Eric were engaged. She even showed off a ring that Eric recognized as having belonged to Grace Northman, Eric’s grandmother!

Eric had immediately gone to see his father, demanding to know how Freyda had gotten the ring. Appius had said that he’d taken matters for Eric’s future into his own hands and that Freyda had been “decided upon.” Apparently, Appius had given her the family ring and told her to announce the engagement. He ordered Eric to go along with it.

However, Eric had not obeyed. Instead, he went to the press and denied the engagement, playing them some of the rambling calls that Freyda had made to him earlier in the year. He also explained that she had stalked him and gave the press some evidence that Bobby had gathered as proof.

Needless to say, both Appius and Freyda had been enraged. But Eric stood firm. He made it clear that if Freyda contacted him again, the press would get even more recordings of her calls to him—ones that made her look even more deranged. He also said that he would call the authorities and leak information about her past stalker behavior too. 

Appius’s reaction had been to audit Eric’s department and to create a whole load of unnecessary nightmares for Eric at work. But—for the first time—Eric didn’t cave to his father’s pressure.

Eric sighed as he focused once more on the woman that seemed to be pulling him to her. “Sookie,” he whispered to himself, even as he knew that he’d never have her. 

Eric had reconciled himself to the fact that he’d have to choose a certain kind of woman to marry—someone from the upper-crust of society. But he knew that he could do better than Freyda de Castro. 

Hell—even Nora would be better than her! At least, with Nora, he could make an arrangement. Hell—to marry Nora, he wouldn’t even have to sleep with her or even live with her! Although Eric was something of a “playboy,” Nora was even more promiscuous. And she was also into some kinky shit that Eric was not. Thus, she would definitely want her freedom. They could have a “public” marriage and go to events together, while they maintained whatever “personal” lives they wanted. Other marriages in their world operated similarly. Plus, Nora would get the Northman name, which would make Appius happy. Moreover, Nora was unable to have children due to the injuries she’d gotten in the same car accident that had killed her mother. So they would have to adopt children to carry on the Northman name. 

Several times, Eric had almost approached Nora about making such an arrangement; however, one thing had stopped him. Eric couldn’t imagine that Nora would want much to do with raising children, so he had decided against her as a choice. He needed a woman who could love his children since he could not. 

In truth, Eric was hoping for a little bit better than Freyda or Nora in a marriage. However, he didn’t have any lofty notions that he would find great love or anything; he didn’t even want that. He knew that the cards he’d been dealt didn’t have a happy ending in store for him. 

When he was younger, he used to stare at a picture of his mother and his father for hours. All the pictures of Stella and Appius had been taken down in his father’s home, but there was one at Mormor and Morfar’s home in Sweden. It was from their wedding day. Stella was dressed in a beautiful, full gown, her blue eyes radiant. Appius was smiling at her with absolute devotion in his eyes. They looked happy—in love. But Eric had come to understand that what he saw in the picture had led to only pain and destruction. 

No. Eric was not hoping for love; in fact, he was pretty sure that love didn’t truly exist. He was, however, hoping for a certain level of understanding with the woman he married. 

Hell—someone like Isabel Edgington would be ideal. They got along well. They were able to talk about books and art and politics. They had similar ambitions, and both of them prioritized work over their personal lives, though he intuited that she would make a good mother. She was an excellent lover too—one of the best he’d ever enjoyed. If she wanted, they could produce children the old-fashioned way and live a comfortable life together. Truth be told, Isabel and he had already discussed the idea of marriage, and they’d agreed that if they were both still single when Eric was approaching his deadline for marriage, they’d revisit the idea and—perhaps—come to an arrangement. However, that was still four years away, and both Isabel and he were enjoying their freedom at the moment. 

In four years, however, Isabel would be almost forty, and she had told him that she’d likely be ready to settle down and have children by then. In truth, a big part of Eric was counting on Isabel to eventually marry him. It would save him a lot of hassle in finding someone else tolerable. And there was no way that Appius could deny Isabel Edgington. Other than Appius himself, Russell Edgington, Isabel’s father, had more influence and money than anyone in New York. 

As Eric looked at Sookie, whose last name he’d discovered was Stackhouse, he couldn’t help but to envy people who were able to live a “warmer” life. The night before, her skin had felt so cool to his touch, but it had warmed him all the same. She had made his heart lunge instead of just beat in its usual metronomical way. And with one kiss, she had toppled his world from its atlas. And since that kiss, she had inadvertently caused all kinds of unrealistic notions to pass through his mind—despite the fact that he had now reconciled himself to the idea that she was likely involved in de Castro’s machinations. In fact, Bobby was already on the job—looking for a connection between Sookie and de Castro. 

Eric couldn’t help but to find it ironic that Nora had been the person who pointed out Sookie to him. Nora had called the young woman “odd.” But that wasn’t the right word for Sookie Stackhouse, at least not in its usual connotation. More appropriate adjectives were perplexing and inexplicable—astonishing even.

And when he had finally looked at her the night before, she was looking right back at him—as if she’d been waiting for him to do it. Too quickly, she’d turned her direct vision somewhere else, but he had known that she was still watching him. 

She had been watching for something specific, but he hadn’t understood what that was until five hours into his sleepless night. It had struck him like lightning as he’d been looking out into the night from his balcony. She had been looking for confirmation of something. And she’d found it—in him. 

Confirmation of what—he was not sure. 

After his unpleasant conversation with Freyda, Eric had looked once more for the mysterious blonde, but she’d left the room by then. However, unlike the year before, he’d found her again quickly, and he’d watched her for several minutes, making sure that she didn’t see him. He had to hand it to her; she was very good at moving through a room unnoticed. He hadn’t seen anyone else looking at her as she sipped on her cocktail—a fact which he’d not been able to comprehend. After all, he had been so damned captivated by her that he had stealthily observed her from across a gallery—for fuck’s sake!

And now all he could do was ask one question. Why? Why had he been so enthralled from the first moment he locked eyes with her. And—even before that—why had he been so fucking entranced by her golden hair that he’d dreamed of it for a year? Why?

Eric tried to think rationally. When he’d first looked at her, Sookie had struck him as lovely, but she had certainly not been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—at least not in a conventional sense. However, her blues eyes had attracted him to her, both because of their vibrancy and because of the obvious interest with which she had been looking at him. Her blond hair—still enticing to him—was longer than it had been the year before, several inches past her shoulders, and it had a natural, soft wave to it. He figured that she was about 5’6”, almost a foot shorter than him, but certainly not short—average for a woman. And her heels made her closer to 5’8” or 5’9”. She looked fit, not as skinny as the stick figures that made up the majority of the women at the party, but certainly not fat. 

Like the brat that she was, Nora liked to tease Pam that she was a size 4 to Nora’s size 0. Sookie looked to be a little bigger than Pam. That meant that most of the women at the party would have considered her to be “big,” but Eric’s own preference was not to feel a woman’s bones poking back when he touched her hips, and his hands already longed to touch Sookie’s hips—preferably while they were naked. 

Still, despite the curves of her body—or maybe because of them—Sookie didn’t stand out, and her outfit for the party was certainly not meant to draw much attention—unlike most of the women’s garments, which likely needed double-sided tape to be held into place. Sookie’s dress was black and appropriate for the occasion, though a little conservative. It didn’t hide the curves that were under it, but it didn’t emphasize them either. The only thing that made the outfit noticeable at all was a light red scarf tied around her neck, but even that was not really meant to draw attention, nor did it.

As he had watched Sookie from across the gallery, Eric could tell that she was trying to convince herself to do something; he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. Her internal pep talk seemed to have worked, and Eric could make out resolution in her profile as she began to slowly move through the room. She walked gracefully, though somewhat warily: a gazelle. 

Eric had followed the path of Sookie’s eyes to Sam Merlotte and Pam, who were having a discussion that seemed to be pretty serious. When he looked back at Sookie, she had stopped and was staring at Merlotte and Pam. Immediately, Eric was able to discern why Sookie might make some people uncomfortable with that stare. Her eyes seemed locked in on her targets—as if she were trying to figure out everything about them using one unblinking gaze. He glanced back at Pam and Merlotte and was glad that they hadn’t noticed her. 

After a couple of minutes, Sookie had abruptly turned away and had gone as if in retreat-mode back into Gallery 819. Eric had followed and then watched for a while longer before approaching her. And then—within a matter of twenty minutes—she had set his world ablaze, burning down every defense that he had ever constructed so that he wouldn’t be forced to feel anything too strongly. 

He hated to feel, but with her so near, he could do nothing else. 

He truly had been shocked speechless by the effect that their kiss had had on him. What had shocked him even more, however, was the effect that her words in the elevator had had on him. It wasn’t what she’d said. He was, of course, pissed off that Felipe de Castro was trying to hurt NP, both by getting hold of enough stock to affect its value and by trying to undermine the business from within. However, what had shocked him most had been his reaction to Sookie. 

He’d placed his hands on her aggressively. He hadn’t struck her; he would never strike a woman, but he’d taken her shoulders firmly and had even shaken her at one point. Now—as he remembered the look in her eyes—he was the one shaken. Shaken to the core. Hers had been a look of resignation, acceptance even. She had accepted that he was going to hurt her, and she was going to let him. And in that moment, he’d hated himself. 

As soon as Eric had realized why he had reacted so strongly, he’d let go of her and backed away. His reaction had come because he felt his heart twist at the thought of her betraying him. He’d only met her that night—had spent less than twenty minutes with her all told—but he realized already that she had the ability to hurt him worse than anyone else. 

Eric didn’t know how he knew that, but he did know it. 

After he’d left her in the elevator, Eric had been relieved not to see Victor or Felipe still in the hall. He’d gone into an empty gallery and texted Bobby immediately, so that he could begin investigating the information Eric had been told about. After that, he’d found his father and told him about de Castro and Madden’s plotting. 

To say that Appius had been angry was an understatement. If Sookie’s information was correct, de Castro’s spies were extremely well-placed. John Quinn was the head of security for the whole building and had access to every camera and audio feed at Northman Tower—the exception being the ones in Appius’s office, for Appius could turn off his own surveillance feed whenever he wanted. 

In many ways, however, the naming of Sandy was a bigger blow to his father. The only person named “Sandy” at NP was Sandy Seacrest, who had been his father’s personal assistant for five years. In fact, ironically, Appius had “stolen” her from de Castro and had enjoyed lording that fact over his business rival. However, it now looked as if Sandy’s loyalties were back with Felipe—that is, if they’d ever belonged to Appius in the first place. Especially because of her history, Appius wouldn’t have trusted Sandy with his deepest secrets, but he obviously felt betrayed nonetheless.

And—of course—as expected, Appius had immediately blamed Eric for the whole goddamned situation. Had Eric not rejected Freyda, Appius had seethed, Felipe would have never tried to interfere with NP. However, Eric knew better. Felipe had been looking for a reason to fuck with Northman Publishing ever since Stan Davis had influenced the Senate to give a lucrative government contract to NP over Vegas Publishing. 

Luckily, however, Appius hadn’t asked Eric how he knew about de Castro. Eric knew that that would come later—after Appius’s rage had settled down. But Eric was determined not to bring Sookie’s name into it. Even if she was de Castro’s spy, his inherent urge to protect her had already won out over family loyalty in Eric’s mind. 

After the party, Eric hadn’t found a nameless girl to fuck. Instead, he’d gone to Pam’s house, had a few drinks, and managed to get his sister to talk about the woman she referred to as Susanna Stackhouse. Just as Nora had reported, Sookie’s mere presence—apparently—had managed to turn the copy editing department onto its head, and not in any kind of good way. Pam confirmed that the disruption had nothing to do with the girl’s work. By all accounts, Susanna did her work beautifully. No—the problems in Pam’s department seemed to stem from jealousy. If anything, the girl was too efficient—too quick. And she’d not picked up any of the other copy editors’ hints to slow down either. The girl was also standoffish; Pam called her skittish and antisocial. 

According to Pam, the “odd” girl spoke to her clients and even to Sam mostly through emails, in which she was—Pam admitted—extremely articulate. But Susanna was not one to socialize or even give a polite nod in greeting. So the others apparently gossiped about her “strangeness.” And it seemed that the gossip centered on Susanna’s propensity to stare at the world around her a little too long and a little too hard. Eric learned that Pam just wanted to fire Susanna and be done with the drama; however, Merlotte had come up with the idea of moving her to a new office. 

Eric watched Susanna/Susan/Sookie as she finished her pastry and took a drink of her coffee. A small smile moved to her lips, and Eric felt a similar one reach his before he shook his head and let a frown replace it. 

The fact that Sookie had no consistent name would send up a red flag for anyone. Was she a spy for de Castro? Did she tell Eric about Felipe and Victor because she had a moment of guilt after the kiss—the fucking magnificent kiss—they’d shared? Or maybe in approaching her, Eric had caused the skittish girl to think she’d been caught, which had then elicited her elevator confession. 

The more he thought about it, the more things that Eric saw about Sookie that seemed to scream that she was—indeed—a spy. She was clearly uneasy around others. She studied people carefully as if she were recording the information. Even at that very moment, she was watching people—the family that Eric had been watching earlier as a matter of fact. He positioned himself so that he could see her profile better. She was watching the family with something akin to longing in her eyes. Then she closed her eyes, and her smile came back, a beautiful soft smile. 

Eric would have done anything to know what was in her mind at that moment. When Sookie opened her eyes, she set her cup down and then looked at her empty hand. It was the same hand he’d held the night before, and the memory of her soft palm pressed against his made more than just his dick stir.

The family disappeared into the museum right after 9:30, but Sookie clearly wasn’t in a hurry. Instead, she finished her coffee at a leisurely pace before throwing her trash away. Her bag with the other two pastries in hand, Sookie walked up the stairs and then into the MET.

Eric followed, but kept his distance. He saw her hand the bag to one of the guards, and there was a brief conversation between them. As Eric passed through the guard station about a minute after Sookie left it, he saw that she had given the two guards the pastries. 

Finding humor in the thought that Sookie had likely just “bribed” the guards into giving her free entry, Eric walked to the front desk to pay for his own admission. Her actions were “nefarious” indeed. 

Eric had already lost sight of Sookie, who had disappeared into the museum, and he knew that there was no way he could find her in the giant labyrinth of the MET unless he was very lucky. So after paying, he gave his name to the attendant at the desk and told her that he needed to see the chief of security as soon as possible.

The Northmans were well-known as generous benefactors to the MET. Hell—ten of the most popular galleries in the MET were the “Northman Galleries.” And many of the pieces in those galleries had been donated by John Northman, Eric’s paternal grandfather, who had been a visionary when it came to art collecting. Hell—almost all of the Matisse paintings in one of the MET’s current exhibitions were on loan from Appius’s private collection.

There were cameras all over the museum too, and Eric was determined to spy on the young woman who was most likely spying on him and NP. However, a single question continued to nag him. Why?

Why was he so interested in her? Why did his heart beat more wildly anytime he was close to her? Why did he want to shield her—even if she was trying to hurt him? Why was he so goddamned scared of her?

Why?


	11. Odd Like Sookie

Chapter 11: Odd Like Sookie

“Can I help you?” Ben Anderson asked the tall, blond man who was waiting near the front desk. The young man looked extremely familiar to the perceptive chief of security, but he couldn’t quite place him. 

“I hope so,” Eric said. “I’m looking for a woman.”

Immediately, mirth shone in Ben’s eyes. At fifty years old, he was in pretty good shape, and his wife Maria made sure that he ate well and exercised three times a week in order to keep what she called his “paunch” from turning into a potbelly hanging over his belt. However, at only 5’9” and of average looks—except for a few years back in his early twenties when women had found him “cute”—Ben had never been one to attrack a lot of female attention, except for his wife’s, of course. And since she was the only one who mattered, he’d always been okay with being rather run-of-the-mill in the looks department. By contrast, the man in front of Ben was almost six and a half feet tall and looked like the kind of man that Maria drooled over as she watched her “dramas.” 

“So you’re looking for a woman?” Ben grinned.

Eric nodded, not yet understanding the root of the older man’s amusement. 

“Forgive me for saying this, Sir,” Ben chuckled, “but you seem to be more qualified for that particular job than I am.”

Eric laughed and found himself liking the man—whose nametag read “Ben”—immediately. “Let me clarify,” he said, taking off his cap and pulling his ID out of his wallet. “My name is Eric Northman, and a woman came into this museum about five minutes ago. I was wondering if you could help me figure out where she is.”

Recognizing the young man now, Ben straightened his back and spoke more formally. “I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize you, Mr. Northman.”

With a wave of his hand, Eric indicated that an apology wasn’t needed. “You ran security last night too—didn’t you?” Eric asked as he remembered seeing the man at the entrance of the museum the night before.

Ben nodded.

“I recognize you,” Eric said. “I think you’ve run the security since I started coming to the NP parties.”

Ben nodded again. “Yeah—I’ve been running it for eight years now.” 

Eric put out his hand. “Well—it’s nice to officially meet you. I’m afraid my father doesn’t really want me involved in the planning of the NP parties, which is why I’ve never introduced myself to you properly before.

Ben smiled a little. He was surprised by the sincerity and warmth in the young man’s expression. “Ben Anderson,” he said, shaking Eric Northman’s hand. 

“Listen, Mr. Anderson,” Eric stammered a little, “I know that this is a little irregular, but the girl I want to find is an employee at Northman Publishing.”

“You can call me Ben,” the head of security said. “Can I ask why you want to find her?”

Eric sighed, opting to be honest with the man in front of him—at least to a certain extent. “Truthfully, she gave me some information last night that I need to find out about. And,” he stopped after only one word of his sentence, suddenly not knowing how to complete his thought.

“And?” Ben asked looking at Eric a bit warily.

“And I don’t know why else,” Eric said, nervously running his hand through his hair.

Ben’s lips twitched upwards into a little smile. “There was a time when my wife made me tongue-tied too. Hell—who am I kidding?” He laughed a little. “That woman still has the uncanny ability to make me about as articulate as a newborn when she wants to.”

“Um—it’s not like that,” Eric said frowning a little. 

“Are you sure about that?” Ben asked with a grin.

“No,” Eric said after a moment’s hesitation. “It is like that,” he paused. “But it’s not,” he added, wondering why he was confessing his confusion over Sookie to a virtual stranger. 

“The best women are always conundrums,” the older man said sagely.

“Can you help me find her?” Eric asked, trying to ignore the slightly desperate hitch in his voice. 

“Follow me,” Ben said after a moment of contemplation. There was something about the young man that made Ben want to help him. And Ben’s first instincts about a person were almost always accurate. Eric Northman was kind and polite, but he also seemed like a man who had been knocked down a time or two and needed a hand up. Ben’s paternal instincts made the chief of security want to give him that hand. 

“Thanks,” Eric said. 

Ben nodded and led Eric into the security hub of the MET where a wall of monitors displayed an array of continuously changing views of the museum. In the room, there were six people in uniform, keeping an eye on the various monitors as they flashed from one gallery to another. 

“So you’re looking for a woman who came in what—about ten minutes ago now?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Eric confirmed. “A blonde. A beautiful one.” 

Ben chuckled. “Tony,” the friendly older man said as he looked at one of the members of this team.

“Yeah, Boss?” a young man, who appeared to be about twenty-five answered.

“Come help this gentleman,” Ben requested.

Tony got up from his station and walked over to a large computer terminal, which was set somewhat apart from the others. “Sure,” he said good-naturedly in a very thick New Jersey accent.

“Tony’s the fastest with the computers,” Ben explained. 

Eric nodded in understanding as he watched the young man get settled. 

“Hey—aren’t you Eric Northman?” Tony asked.

“Yeah.”

Tony chuckled. “I guess I kinda work for you then.

Eric smiled sheepishly. “Not me. My father—maybe. He’s the one who can afford the big donations. But I do appreciate your help.”

“Not a problem,” Tony said. “So—uh—you need to see the feed from the main entrance from ten minutes ago?”

“Yeah,” Eric confirmed.

Tony nodded and pushed several buttons on the computer. It wasn’t long before Eric saw himself on the screen. 

“A minute or so before that,” Eric requested.

“Sure,” Tony said, running the video back.

“There!” Eric said, pointing to the screen when Sookie entered the museum. 

“Uh—you’re looking for Suzy?” Ben asked.

“You know her?” Eric responded with surprise; in fact, the only thing that didn’t surprise him was that Sookie had been addressed by yet another moniker.

“Suzy comes in every week to see a new gallery—Sundays like clockwork,” Tony supplied.

“She didn’t pay admission,” Eric observed with a raised eyebrow.

“She’s got one of those yearly memberships,” Tony informed him.

Eric chuckled. “I guess she didn’t bribe the guards with food, after all.”

Tony and Ben chuckled.

“No—but she always brings them something,” Tony said.

“So you know her?” Eric asked again, this time in Ben’s direction.

“Um—not really,” the head of security admitted. “But she’s been coming to the MET for about a year now—always the same routine, you know. We get a lot of regulars here, and we start to recognize them after a while.” 

“Usually the regulars are students,” Tony said.

“Yeah, but they aren’t around for too long, and they generally frequent just one section of the museum during all of their visits, but Suzy’s different,” Ben added. “We never know where she’ll be going.” 

“Suzy?” Eric asked.

“Uh—that’s just the nickname we gave her,” came a female voice from behind them.

Eric turned around to look at the new speaker, but he couldn’t see her face since her eyes were still glued on the monitors in front of her. 

“Can we find out where she went by looking at the cameras?” Eric asked, turning back to Tony.

“Sure, but there’s a faster way,” Ben smiled, quickly pushing some numbers on his walkie-talkie. 

“Hey, Milos?” Ben said into the receiver. “Where’s Suzy going today?” There was a pause. “Got it. Thanks.” He put his walkie-talkie back into his pocket. “111, Tony.”

Tony pushed some buttons on the computer, and soon images from Gallery 111 were on the screen. 

“There,” Tony pointed at the figure of Sookie, who was studying something in one of the display cases.

“How is it that you recognize her?” Eric asked, already entranced by Sookie’s figure on the screen. “Even if she comes in once a week—surely the volume of people in and out of this place would make it difficult to notice just one person.”

“We always remember the strange ones,” the woman said with a smile in her voice. 

“Doris was the first one to notice something was—uh—peculiar about Suzy,” Ben offered.

“It’s my eagle eyes,” the woman said with a chuckle.

“We spent quite a while trying to figure out what she was up to after we first noticed her,” Ben said, almost apologetically. “I even dedicated a guard to watch her specifically for a few weeks. As you can imagine, sometimes we get people in here that think they can tamper with or take.”

“It’s that goddamned movie: The Thomas Crown Affair,” Tony muttered.

“And the painting in the movie isn’t even at the MET,” Doris added.

“Though we get asked about it ten times a day,” Tony complained.

“Plus, I wasn’t working here when they filmed, so I missed Pierce Brosnan’s fine ass,” Doris grumbled.”

Ben chuckled. “Yeah. That movie definitely gave some of the crazies ideas. Course—it turned out that Suzy was harmless.”

“What makes her strange?” Eric asked after a few moments, truly curious about what the group would say. 

“Well,” Ben started cautiously, “like I said, we get lots of students in here, and they’ll usually study certain pieces real close. But—after a couple of weeks—they won’t be back. We also get members that come several times a month; they visit different sections of the museum each time, but most of them are older. Regardless, they’ll browse around and then move on. But Suzy is a little different. Ya see?” he said motioning toward the monitor. 

Eric studied the screen. Sookie was looking closely at the pieces and making notes in a small composition book. 

“She’ll look around the gallery once and read everything about every single piece,” Ben said.

“That’s before lunch,” Tony offered.

“Yeah,” Doris picked up. “She looks at everything—sometimes a couple of times like she’s trying to memorize it. Then she leaves for a while.”

“For lunch in the park—if it’s not raining,” another guard said.

“Or snowing,” Tony added.

“If the weather is bad, she eats in the cafeteria,” Doris said.

“She always gets the soup and a water if she eats at the MET,” Ben said quietly. 

“And always a hotdog from the truck outside if she goes to the park,” Doris said. “But she’ll try different kinds.”

“Well—food is really expensive in our cafeteria,” Ben said.

“Which is ridiculous since it’s not that good,” Doris added.

“Suzy usually takes about two hours for lunch,” Tony contributed.

“When she’s in the cafeteria, she writes more in her book,” Doris said.

“If it’s a warm day outside, she sometimes spends more than two hours in the park,” Ben volunteered. “I’ve seen her walking around when I’ve taken my own lunch out there.”

“And then she comes back,” Tony said, “and she always goes to the same gallery she went to that morning. And then she walks around the gallery some more.”

“She always leaves right around 5:15,” another guard—whose name Eric hadn’t caught—added. “We close at 5:30.” 

“But at 4:00,” Tony continued, “the betting pool closes.”

“Betting pool?” Eric asked.

“Tony!” Ben said warningly. 

“It’s just good-natured fun,” Tony said apologetically—and a bit guiltily. “The bets are just a way to pass our Sundays—really. It gets kind of boring hearing about the Boss’s wife’s cooking, Doris’s kids, and Mark’s boat all the time.”

“Well I don’t hear you contributing more than long homilies about your games,” Doris said, sending him a glare over her shoulder.

“My boat’s the bomb,” another guard mumbled under his breath. Eric figured that one must be Mark.

“What bets?” Eric asked.

“Bets on the picture she’ll take,” Ben admitted with a sigh. “She always takes one and only one picture in each gallery she visits.”

“Doris over there is the best at guessing,” Tony said, pointing to the female guard.

Eric finally got a better look at Doris when she turned around to address them. The African American woman, who looked to be in her early 40’s, smiled. Eric immediately noticed that her eyes were kind and playful. “Woman’s intuition,” she said with a wink in Eric’s direction.

Eric looked back at Sookie in the monitor. She seemed oblivious to everything else in the gallery as she stared at a case containing ancient Egyptian jewelry. 

“Were the cameras on last night? During my father’s party?” Eric asked in barely a whisper.

“The cameras are always on,” Ben said. 

Eric looked at a large map of all the galleries which took up part of the wall opposite the monitors. “Will you show me Gallery 823—at around 11:15 last night?”

Ben sighed. “We really shouldn’t be doing this, Mr. Northman, but since your family practically owns this place,” his voice trailed off as he nodded to Tony.

“Eric—call me Eric,” he said, something hopeful in his voice.

Once again, Ben’s instincts were to help Eric Northman. The head of security gave the young man a little smile and a nod. He had to stop himself from giving him a hug; the blonde looked like he could use it. 

Tony pulled up all the cameras from Gallery 823 for the time Eric had indicated. “There’s nothing at 11:15, and the cameras are motion-activated. I’ll search for any feeds from around that time,” he said.

Eric nodded and watched as a recording reading 11:21 p.m. began. 

“Wow—is that you with Suzy?” Tony asked, leaning in to look at the video feed. “She cleans up real nice.” 

Several other guards in the room looked toward the screen and mumbled something along the same lines. Meanwhile, Eric just watched the video of Sookie and himself, feeling almost as affected by the recording as he had felt in front of her the night before. It wasn’t long before he was kissing her.

“Damn,” Doris said. “Da-yum!” she repeated emphatically as the kiss went on.

“Nice,” Tony muttered.

Eric ignored them and watched as the Sookie in the video gripped him tighter and tighter. Then he watched himself seeming to sputter as he looked for words to say to follow up that kiss. He saw her back away from him, and even though he couldn’t see her eyes in the video, he vividly remembered the moment her blue orbs had moved from passion and surprise to insecurity and uncertainty. However—now he remembered what he had not seen in them: guilt. And in that moment, he knew that she couldn’t be a spy sent by de Castro or Appius. 

She hadn’t betrayed him! 

His heart leapt. 

He didn’t know how Sookie had known what she did about de Castro, but he knew that it wasn’t because of something illegal on her part. Yes. That he did know—somehow. 

However—why it was so important to him that she wasn’t working against him was a mystery to him.

“Are you with our Suzy then?” Ben asked softly. 

“Sookie,” Eric said softly. “She likes for her friends to call her Sookie.”

“Oh,” Ben said. “We were just working off of her membership paperwork when we came up with her nickname. Are you with—uh—Sookie?” he asked again.

“No,” Eric said quietly. “As I told you, she works for me, and—as you said—she’s somewhat odd.” 

“That kiss looked like you were with her,” Doris muttered under her breath. 

Ben gave Doris a stern look, which she rolled her eyes at. Then he turned back toward Eric. “Do you—uh—need anything else, Sir? Uh—Eric?”

“Why does she bring in the pastries for the two guards at the front?” Eric asked. 

“Milos and Jack? Who knows? She just started it one Sunday and never stopped,” Ben responded. 

“It’s a good thing too,” Tony deadpanned.

“Why’s that?” Eric asked.

“Milos is always running late, so he never eats breakfast. Before Suz—Sookie—started bringing him something to eat, he used to complain nonstop about being hungry until lunch, and since I rotate in for him when he takes his lunch break, I always had to eat after him,” Tony complained.

Ben scoffed. “Yeah—Milos was always asking for his lunch break early too. It threw the whole schedule off.”

“Is she friends with either of the guards?” Eric asked.

“Nah,” Ben reported. “Not really. But she always stops and says hello to them. And they ask her what gallery she’s going to be in so that we can—uh—find her faster. By 4:00, a lot of people will come in to put five bucks into the betting pool and select their guess.” He gestured toward a clipboard and a jar on a table to the right. “On the weeks no one guesses what she’ll pick, we just keep the money in the kitty. The pot can get pretty high if she’s in the big galleries for a few weeks in a row, but Doris won it last week.”

“Yep,” the woman said. “Paid for my daughter’s college books too.”

Ben smiled, but then looked concerned. “We—uh—just do this for a little fun on Sundays. Most of us work the full day since the museum’s open for fewer hours. And we—uh—like Suzy; I mean Sookie. She’s interesting. We don’t do anything to bother her, and she doesn’t even know we’re here.”

“It’s fine,” Eric said quietly. “I wouldn’t ruin her time here by telling her, and it’s,” he paused, “nice to know someone’s keeping an eye on her.” 

“We do keep an eye on her,” Ben assured quietly. “Sometimes, she gets so lost in herself in the galleries.” His tone became more serious. “A couple of times guys have started to take a little too much interest in her—if you know what I mean—but I send a guard in to scare them off.” He chuckled. “She doesn’t even know when it’s happening, but we are sort of her watchdogs in here.”

Eric nodded. “You say she stays here all morning?”

“Yeah. Since it’s a nice day, she’ll leave the museum between 12:00 and 1:00, and she’ll come back between 2:00 and 3:00.”

Eric nodded. “I’ll be back at 1:00.” He handed Ben his card. “Call me if she leaves before her usual time.”

Ben sighed and took the card. “Listen, Mr. Northman—Eric. As I said, we like Suz—Sookie—even if she’s a bit unusual and even if it’s sort of entertaining for us to watch her. You aren’t—uh—stalking her. Are you?”

Eric saw that several of the others were looking at him too—waiting for his response. It seemed as if Sookie had unknowingly cast a spell over them too. “Stalking her?” He shook his head. “No. Or—uh—I don’t know. I am following her today.” He looked around at the eyes of everyone in the room looking back at him. “I hope you can trust me when I say that I have a good reason for being here. And I don’t mean Sookie any harm.” He paused. “I don’t want to hurt her,” he said, his voice catching with sudden and unexpected emotion. 

“Okay then. That’s good enough for us,” Ben said after a few seconds of studying the young man. He put Eric’s card in his pocket. 

Eric nodded. “Thanks,” he paused and looked at everyone in the room. “Thanks for watching over her.”

Ben escorted Eric to the front of the museum. 

“I need for my visit here to stay between you and your people—okay?” Eric asked. 

“Sure,” Ben said. “But, if you don’t mind me saying, Eric, all this is a little odd.”

“Odd like Sookie?”

Ben nodded. “Yes. Just like that,” he said with a little smile. 

“I’ll see you at 1:00,” Eric said before turning to leave.


	12. What We Don't Choose

Chapter 12: What We Don't Choose

Eric exited the museum at a quick pace. He didn't want to leave; he wanted to keep looking at her—looking out for her—all day, but that was impossible. The last thing he could afford to do was miss the gathering he'd been summoned to.

He glanced at his watch and found that he had 20 minutes before he was to meet with his father and the others about Felipe de Castro. Luckily his father's estate was nearby. He pulled on his gray hat and walked south on Fifth Avenue.

He looked down at his attire, knowing that Appius would not approve. He'd intended to go home to change into a suit before the meeting at his father's house, but he'd been swept up in the mystery of Sookie Stackhouse. Despite the cold temperature—especially when he left his house early that morning—he was wearing only a simple black sweater, a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to grab his messenger bag, but he knew that he looked more like a graduate student than a business executive. Pam called it his "vagabond" look.

She'd insisted upon putting herself in charge of his suits the year before after she'd seen the sparseness of his closet and—as she had put it—"the shameful lack of color" in his tie collection. After graduating from business school, Eric had been at a bit of a loss about what to wear to a place like NP. He'd never had anyone to teach him about the kinds of suits to buy. Luckily, he'd wandered into a Calvin Klein store, and the attendant had helped to fit him for a few suits.

Despite having gotten a sizeable inheritance from his grandfather John Northman and having a high-paying job, Eric had been unused to owning many clothes. In fact, he was still trying to get used to Pam's insistence that he needed new suits each season, especially when they looked like suits he already owned. He'd had to find subtle ways to curb her desire to overspend since she didn't know that he had limited disposable income now that he was paying a mortgage; however, he still had a lot more work clothes than he'd ever had before. And—of course—he had to admit that Pam's tastes were impeccable. The Ermenegildo Zegna suit that she'd insisted he needed six months before was probably the best-fitting suit he'd ever owned. Of course, she was already hinting that he needed to "move on" because the suit was "last season," but Eric was determined to put his foot down about that particular item.

As Eric continued walking the few blocks to his father's Manhattan home, he texted Bobby Burnham. He asked for a thorough background check to be conducted on Susanna Stackhouse, but he requested that it be done discreetly. He also asked if Bobby could play Sookie's shadow during the upcoming week.

Bobby didn't disappoint. By the next block, he'd texted back and agreed.

Eric sent a follow-up text, warning Bobby that Sookie was a person that seemed to notice a lot about what went on around her. Of course, he'd seen the exception to that rule at the museum earlier that day as he'd watched her on the monitors. In the gallery, she'd become lost in her explorations of the art, oblivious to the other patrons around her. Eric wondered why she allowed herself to be so completely relaxed as she studied the art—especially since he'd seen her so guarded at other times—but then he realized that she must feel safe in the galleries; surrounded by art and strangers, she had nothing to fear.

In truth, he could see the attraction of that kind of thing, and since Ben and his crew were watching over her, Eric was also certain that she was safe there—safe to spend hours on end each Sunday lost to the world. Eric intuited that Sookie needed that. And he was—for a moment—very envious that she had something like that. He didn't know for sure why he was envious, however. Was it because he too wanted an activity that could give him such peace and escape? Or was it because he wanted to be the one to provide Sookie with safety and respite from the world.

It was this last thought that disconcerted Eric the most. What did he want to "be" to Sookie—for Sookie?

With difficulty, Eric pushed the enigmatic blonde from his mind. It didn't matter what he wanted to be to her, after all. What mattered was that his being in her life would hurt her; it was inevitable.

He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and focused on what was coming—a family meeting, at least of sorts. Most of the time—if Eric were involved—such a meeting would take place at Northman Tower and involve mostly business. However, today, Appius had insisted that everyone—including Eric—gather at the mansion, given the fact that there were at least two spies at Northman Publishing, one being the head of security.

Eric was rarely asked to come to the Northman Mansion. The exceptions were for a yearly brunch on Father's Day, which was an "event" that originated when Sophie-Anne married Appius four years before, and for Christmas day, which was the only time when the entire family was expected to gather altogether. Eric was painfully aware that there were many other times when his siblings were invited into their father's home, and Nora still lived there most of the time, though one of the penthouse apartments in Northman Tower had been given to her as well. There was a time when Eric had been allowed to live at Northman Tower—right after Eric had graduated from Harvard Business School and started at NP—but Appius had had a motive for that "generosity," and it hadn't lasted long.

Eric took several deep breaths to calm his nerves as he crossed Fifth Avenue and turned onto East 80th Street. Despite being a shitty father to Eric, Appius Northman was actually brilliant at business, and, according to some, his most noteworthy trait had been his ability to settle his children into his company without causing dissention between them. Since he was the oldest, Eric had been integrated into Northman Publishing first—as the company's Deputy CEO. He'd been in charge of the international division of the company since then. And he would take over as CEO when he turned 35.

Nora had been the next one to step into the business. However, unlike Eric, she'd needed no "probationary" period. She'd been installed as the company's Chief Financial Officer one week after getting her MBA from Columbia University. The former CFO had been given an order to train Nora, and then six months later he'd "retired" with a stellar severance package.

A year later Pam started at NP, becoming the manager of the Editing Department. From the first, Pam was excellent at her job, efficient and somewhat feared. She liked to joke that Machiavelli's The Prince was her bible. Not surprisingly, her department had grown, despite the steady decrease of the need for printed materials as the Internet became more and more prominent.

Yes. By outsiders, Appius was heralded for seeing the business potential of his children. However, Eric knew better. He now knew why Appius had installed him at NP. He sighed. Appius had never intended for Eric to last very long at the company. However, much to Appius's displeasure, Eric was still at NP and had become successful in his own right.

Eric was also very much aware that Nora sometimes needed help to do her job correctly. It wasn't that Nora was unintelligent; it was just that she was in over her head and tended to be a little lazy. On the other hand, Pam was "better" than the job she'd been given. Hell—if Eric were in charge, Pam would be CFO, but Eric was certainly not in charge, and even when he became CEO, he wouldn't have the power to remove Nora from her current position.

Having arrived at Appius's estate, Eric looked up at the home that his father had bought not long after Eric's mother had died. It had once been the old Woolworth Mansion, one of the most luxurious and coveted homes in Manhattan. Of course, Appius had jumped at the chance to buy it when the property came onto the market, and—of course—he'd redubbed it the "Northman Mansion."

However—despite its name—the Northman Mansion had never been Eric's home. He had been sent to boarding school just a few months after his mother died. In fact, the only times that he'd been invited into his father's home before he'd turned 18 were during his boarding schools' winter breaks—when the campuses would shut down completely. Even then, Eric was always the last one to be picked up from his schools and the first one to be brought back each January.

Eric vividly remembered being picked up by a limo for every winter break from the time he was five to the time he was seventeen. The partition between the driver and the passenger seats was always up, and Eric always traveled alone. A bagged sandwich and a bottled water were always left for him in the seat. However, Eric learned after the first five-hour ride that the limo would only stop if gas was needed, so he avoided drinking anything during the trip so that he wouldn't need to go to the bathroom.

However, after he'd turned 18, Eric was no longer welcome to stay the night in the familial estate, and for many years he was just expected on Christmas day.

Eric sighed as he looked at his watch and realized he had eight minutes before he was expected. He took a deep breath, deciding to spend five of them outside.

He was the only one of Appius's children who had never had his own room in the building. But Eric couldn't really complain about that. He wouldn't have wanted to spend more time there. Before he turned 18, Eric faced only discomfort and his father's yearly lectures about his shortcomings during the three weeks out of the year that he was in Appius's home.

No. Eric much preferred his boarding school and his room in his grandparents' home in Sweden.

Pam and Nora, who were less than two months apart in age, had both gone to private school in Manhattan, so they had lived with Appius until Pam had gone to college in California. Alexei had also stayed in the Northman household until he was shipped off to boarding school in Switzerland after getting a twenty-year-old girl pregnant when he was only fourteen. Though Eric could sense Alexei's potential, his younger brother was a "special case" according to the wording most often used by the family. Now 22, Alexei showed no interest or aptitude in anything. Eric hadn't been able to spend much time with Alexei during the last several years, but he intuited that his younger brother just needed Appius to step in and tell him to get his shit together; in other words, he needed his father to care enough to tell him to straighten up, but Eric didn't see that happening anytime soon.

In truth, Alexei had always been spoiled—excessively. However, Eric couldn't really blame anyone for that; after all, Alexei's natural charisma drew others to him and got him almost anything he wanted.

Alexei had inherited his outgoing, appealing personality from his mother. Beth Gainesborough-Northman had been born Lizbeth Appleton, a distant cousin of British royalty. In fact, the Appletons boasted ties to several European kings and queens, and they were incredibly wealthy. And, of course, Appius thought of himself as the fucking king of Manhattan. Thus, Alexei had been treated like a prince from the second of his birth. Eric, however, could muster up no jealousy for his little brother. On the contrary, Eric felt only a sense of protectiveness when he thought of Alexei.

Eric checked his watch and approached the front door. His father's long-time butler, Markus, was waiting to open it as if he'd known Eric had been there. Markus gave Eric an affectionate pat on the back as Eric walked in and took off his cap.

"Hello Markus," Eric said with a sincere smile.

"Mr. Northman," Markus answered. "You don't have a coat?" he asked with a little worry in his voice. "It's quite cold outside—you know."

"You and Margaret always did call me a Viking," Eric chuckled.

"That we did, Mr. Northman," Markus said fondly, remembering how Eric only ever wore a light jacket outdoors—even on the coldest days of his winter vacations.

"Eric," the young man corrected, "please."

Markus looked somewhat sympathetic. "Sorry. You know I can't do that."

Eric sighed and nodded. Appius demanded a certain amount of formality from his servants, even those who had been with the estate for decades, and ever since Eric had turned 18, he had become "Mr. Northman" to them.

"How's Margaret?" he asked of Markus's wife, who was also the cook for the estate.

"Fine. She'll be sorry she missed you."

"She's not here?"

Markus shook his head. "No—she's in Newark with her mother this weekend."

"Is everything okay?" Eric asked, remembering that Margaret had been concerned about her mother's health at Christmas.

"Margaret's mother had another heart attack, I'm afraid," Markus sighed. "But she's doing better now. Margaret's moved her into assisted living, and she seems to like that."

Eric nodded. "Will you tell her I said hello?"

"Sure," Markus said with a smile before leading Eric to one of the several living rooms in the mansion—the one that Sophie-Anne called the "informal living room."

Eric wasn't surprised to see Lochlan and Neave Faeman in the room. They were partners in the firm that represented Appius personally; in fact, Eric didn't know if they did anything else other than his bidding. The term "sharks" came to mind when Eric thought of them. Oh—they were good at their jobs, but he was pretty sure they had sharp teeth and could tear apart any miserable souls that they chose as their victims. Afraid of losing various body parts, Eric was just glad that they weren't part of the team of corporate lawyers in the legal department at Northman Publishing. They poked their noses into NP business on occasion, but Eric had been forced to work with them directly only a few times.

Eric also wasn't surprised to see Stan Davis in the room. Stan had, after all, been Appius's personal attorney before he'd been elected to the Senate. Davis, Faeman, and Associates had been one of the most prominent law firms in New York for over 75 years; it had been opened by Stan Davis's grandfather and the Faemans' great-grandfather. Stan's own father had been a U.S. Senator, and when Stan had decided to follow in his footsteps and run for his vacant Senate seat after Stanley Sr. had died, Appius had backed him with his wealth and influence.

It hadn't surprised anyone in New York society when Tamara Davis, Stan's sister, had become Appius's third wife. Sadly, the marriage hadn't lasted long.

Tamara had married Appius when Eric was seventeen. Since the wedding coincided with one of Eric's winter breaks, Tamara had insisted that he be included in the ceremony, though Appius made sure to tell Eric—in private, of course—that he hated the idea of his being there. Eric had been an usher, but had been escorted out of the sanctuary by Dermot Faeman, Lochlan and Neave's now-retired father, during the wedding ceremony itself.

Tamara and Appius had had only one child, Grace Lauren Northman, named for Appius's mother. When Appius and Tamara decided to divorce after only four years of marriage, the "transaction" had been amicable, and Appius had pretty much "won" Stan in the settlement. Gracie—as their now twelve-year-old daughter was called—lived with her mother in Boston and seemed quite down-to-earth and well-adjusted, compared to Appius's other children. Tamara—it seemed—hadn't been too keen on Appius's notions of parenting their child by sending her off to boarding schools, which was what had precipitated their divorce. Appius had agreed to Tamara's terms in the divorce: she wouldn't take any of his money if he let her educate and raise Gracie as she wanted. Appius had stipulated that Gracie would receive a trust fund from him only if she eventually joined Northman Publishing, and their deal was struck.

During her four years of marriage with Appius, which corresponded roughly to Eric's time as an undergraduate in college, Tamara had always been nice to him—even though he saw her only three times following his eighteenth birthday. However, since the divorce, she had been even kinder to him, inviting him to Boston several times a year so that he could spend the day with Gracie. It hadn't take Tamara long to recognize that Eric was not exactly welcome in Appius's home. And it also hadn't taken her long to understand that Gracie adored Eric; even when she was an infant and only saw him once a year at Christmas, she would light up around him. Eric smiled to himself. Gracie had treated him like a giant jungle gym for the first ten years of her life. Now that she was in her "pre-teen" years, she always wanted to talk to him about some boy or another—to get the "male perspective," she would say.

Of course, Appius had tried to stop the visits when he learned of them, but Tamara had held firm, a fact which Eric had been extremely grateful for as he'd gotten to better know his little sister. In fact, the last time he'd been to Boston was for Halloween, and he'd gotten to walk with Gracie through her neighborhood as she went trick-or-treating in a fireman costume. He was also planning a February visit for the weekend before her birthday, and—of course—there was her dance recital in June. Yes—it was safe to say that Eric was extremely grateful to Tamara that he got to spend time with Gracie—beyond the two times a year when he would see her at their father's home.

Eric looked around the room as if he were analyzing a battlefield. Nora was sitting with their grandmother, Grace Northman, on the shorter sofa in the room. Andre, Sophie-Anne, and Appius were sitting on the long sofa. Andre and Sophie-Anne were flanking Appius, both of them looking "spouse-like." The Faemans were standing behind Appius, and Stan was standing behind Grace. Pam was sitting in one of the chairs that formed a three-sided square with the couches.

"You're late," Appius said disapprovingly in Eric's direction. "And this is a business meeting, not a rock and roll concert," he added, glaring at Eric's outfit.

As a matter of fact, Eric was exactly on time, but he didn't say anything to contradict Appius. Instead, he reached into his knapsack and took out several files. "I have gathered some information on Quinn and Sandy," he informed, handing the files to Appius. Bobby had sent Eric some of the information in the early hours of the morning, and Eric had spent much of the rest of his sleepless night gathering more.

Eric sat down in the chair next to Pam, who was his only ally in the room.

"And?" Appius asked, sifting through the files.

"Quinn is from Las Vegas. From what I've been able to find out, he owes de Castro for some gambling debts amassed by his mother," Eric reported.

"Why didn't you notice this when we hired him?" Appius snapped at Eric accusingly.

Used to his father berating him, Eric answered evenly. "I am not in charge of the Human Resources division."

Appius glared at him. "As Deputy CEO, you need to know everything that goes on at NP!"

Eric ignored the fact that Appius's logic was faulty—since the CEO should also "know everything." He also didn't remind Appius that he had preferred the other candidate who had interviewed for the position of chief of security at NP; in fact, right after the interviews, Eric had told Appius that he thought there was something untrustworthy about John Quinn. Of course, that practically ensured that Appius would hire Quinn—just to go against Eric's preference. Instead, Eric responded calmly. "Our usual background checks don't include bribes and searches into the Nevada organized crime syndicate. This report did."

"And Sandy?" Appius seethed.

Eric sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say that she's been feeding information to de Castro since she left him and started working for you."

Appius glared at Eric. "I doubt that very much. The current situation is all your fault."

"Of course," Eric said impassively. "But it seems that Felipe is just as vindictive and obsessive as his daughter."

"If you had just married her, none of this would be happening!" Grace Northman spoke up harshly.

"Indeed," Appius agreed with his mother. "We had things arranged satisfactorily, but you had to fuck it up—as always."

Eric took a breath. "Be that as it may, we still have to figure out what to do about de Castro now."

Appius glared at his son. "Well—since you have all the answers today, what do you propose?"

Though he knew that whatever he said would be rejected, Eric outlined his plan. He suggested that Sandy and Quinn be watched for a while so that solid evidence of their spying could be accumulated. Eric posited that if enough evidence could be gathered to have them arrested, then they would likely testify against Felipe to save their own skin.

Eric's strategy would be more subtle and drawn-out than the "shock and awe" plan that he was certain his father would advocate, but his proposal would likely end with de Castro and Madden behind bars or, at the very least, unable to target Northman Publishing again. It would be a clean and legal solution—though it would likely take a few months to implement.

Of course, Appius vetoed it immediately with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"What of the NP stock?" Appius asked Nora.

"I've confirmed that NP stock is being bought up by a single individual—almost fifteen percent so far. The family still controls fifty-three percent," she added.

Appius growled. "We should have never gone public," he said, looking in Eric's direction. "I believe that was your hair-brained idea."

Eric sighed. "Even with fifteen percent of the company, De Castro can be little more than an annoyance. Even if he sells it all off quickly and the stock prices dive, we can recover just as quickly."

"Bad publicity is not something to be shrugged off!" Appius yelled. "You would do well to learn that!"

Eric steadied himself with a deep breath. "I have already contacted the PR department with some preliminary plans about how to spin the situation in our favor. Plus, if it is eventually leaked to the Press that de Castro is behind the sale and the spies, I don't think we'll be hurt at all. In fact, I think that we would garner public sympathy and support from such an incident."

Appius glared at Eric. "I don't like not owning every damned share of my company."

Eric spoke evenly. "I am well aware of that, but the family still controls the majority of the stock. And as long as we maintain above fifty percent, you will continue to control the board. I was very careful in how I set things up when we went public, Father. As long as there was nothing illegal for Sandy or Quinn to find, we were never in any real danger from de Castro's machinations. They are an irritation at best. And now we can use his spies to either feed false information to de Castro or to bring him down," Eric added reasonably.

"I don't like de Castro's hands in my fucking pot!" Appius yelled out angrily. "Your so-called plan would take months, and I want him and his spies out of my hair now! What are our other options?"

"Pressure," Stan said from where he was standing behind Grace and Nora. "I can call de Castro today and explain to him that his actions with Quinn and Sandy have been unacceptable. And then I can prod him to sell his stock. I have a feeling that he will cower when he knows we are on to him. And his company still has several lucrative contracts with the government. I will simply remind him that I'm on the subcommittee that decides who publishes the thousands of government documents each year."

Eric didn't bother bringing up the point that the kind of "pressure" that Stan was talking about was illegal. It didn't matter anyway. His father was never shy about flirting with the legal/illegal line.

Eric ran his hand through is hair. As angry as he'd initially been the night before, he'd quickly cooled down and realized that there was no real threat from de Castro—unless NP was participating in illegal activities he wasn't aware of.

The Northmans still controlled enough stock in NP to prevent any corporate raiding schemes that de Castro may have had in mind. Appius owned 30% of the company outright, which was the maximum that any one individual could own. Eric owned 7%. Nora owned 10%. Since each of them had more than 5% of the company, they had to officially disclose that information at the end of each year; however, those with less than 5% did not. Thus, it was not commonly known that the family still held over 50% of the company's stock. Pam held 3% as did Alexei—through a trust controlled by Appius. That brought the family up to 53%, and—unbeknownst to Appius, Eric also controlled an additional 7% of the stock. With part of his inheritance from his grandfather John, Eric had been able to buy 2.1% of the publicly-traded stock, which he'd put in his maternal grandmother's name so that his father wouldn't know about it. The other 4.9% belonged to Bobby Burnham, who had bought the most stock he could without having it publicly reported.

Bobby had done that for three reasons. First, it had been as a favor to Eric; in fact, Bobby planned to sell the stock to Eric when the time was right. Second, Bobby hated Appius and knew that his having the stock would piss him off. Third, Bobby was no idiot; he recognized that the stock would make him a lot of money. And it already had.

Indeed, Eric had been extremely careful about keeping the amount of stock controlled by the family above 50%, though the Northmans didn't advertise that fact. Thus, it had been Felipe's ignorance and arrogance that had led him to believe that he could cause any real damage by buying up the stock.

"So if we pressure him, he'll sell?" Appius asked Stan.

"Yes. I think so," Stan replied.

"Good. I don't want him to hold any stock in Northman Publishing when this is done. Use this information to link him to Quinn," Appius said, gesturing to the file of information Eric had gathered. "Then blackmail the fuck out of him! I want Quinn and Sandy gone tomorrow! No one fucks with my company!" Appius stormed.

Stan nodded. "I'll do it today. In fact, I'll speak with Felipe personally."

Appius rose, glared at Eric, and then left the room without another word. Sophie-Anne and Andre trailed after him like puppies. And Neave and Lochlan slinked out behind them.

Grace glared at Eric. "You could have prevented all of this if you had simply married Freyda. Instead of dealing with this mess, we could have been planning a wedding and a merger." She shook her head. "After all that Appius has done for you, I cannot believe that you wouldn't act for the benefit of this family." She sighed dramatically. "All of this drama has made me extremely upset," she said, still looking right at Eric with a hate-filled stare.

"Why don't I escort you home then?" Stan offered congenially.

"That would be lovely," Grace said, rising to her feet. She quickly kissed her two granddaughters on the cheek. Eric, of course, was offered nothing in parting except for another scowl.

"That went well," Nora deadpanned when only the three siblings were left in the room.

"Yes," Eric said simply, giving nothing away.

Pam scoffed, "Eric's plan could have put de Castro in prison—thereby eliminating the competition. Why wouldn't Father just wait?" she asked, truly mystified.

"Waiting was Eric's idea," Nora chuckled, her very slight British accent poking through. "And that is never acceptable." She winked at Eric and then practically skipped out of the room.

"She can be such a bitch," Pam said under her breath.

Eric gave a little shrug but said nothing.

"Heading home?" Pam asked. "Father lent me the car. I had some shopping to do before the meeting this morning."

Eric shook his head. "No—I need to run by NP," he lied.

"I could drop you," she offered.

"That's okay. I'll use the subway."

Pam rolled her eyes. Her own aversion to the subway was very well known. "Why must you travel like a commoner?" she asked rather snobbishly, looking at his clothing with disdain as well.

Eric ignored her comment. "Dinner tonight?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm having Dawn," Pam informed him with a smirk, "and since I'm not kinky like Nora, I won't be asking you to join us."

Eric cringed. "Thanks for that," he responded.

Pam sighed. "Father should have done what you suggested, Eric. It was the best way—the legal way. I'm sorry I didn't speak up to say that, but he just seemed so dead-set against your plan from the start."

Eric shrugged. "If I'd really wanted my way, I would have asked Nora to suggest the plan," he sighed. In a moment of uncharacteristic unguardedness, he continued in a lowered voice, "If Father had his way, I wouldn't even be employed at NP."

"Sure you would," Pam returned somewhat optimistically.

"The head of the custodial department?" Eric joked.

"The head?" Pam smirked.

"You're right," Eric smiled at his sister as he extended his arm for her to take. "I would have had to work my way up the ranks."

"That's more like it, Mop Boy," she kidded as the two walked to the front entryway and Markus helped her put on her heavy coat. She looked up at her older brother, who seemed to carry more and more weight on his shoulders as the years went by. She wondered if anyone else saw the tiny bit of gray hedging its way into his blond locks.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Of course," Eric lied. "Always."

"You know—if you just tried a little harder with him, you two might get along better," she said hopefully.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw Markus sigh as he left the room. Eric knew that the competent Butler was probably already calling for Pam's car.

"I don't know how to try harder than I already do," Eric responded honestly.

Pam smiled a little. "I just wish you two would get along."

"Me too."

"Well—he won't be CEO forever," she said lightly.

Eric raised a brow. "No. But he will likely live forever," he joked, trying to add levity to their serious conversation.

"A god?" Pam asked with a grin.

"More like a vampire," Eric chuckled, "draining me of my blood."

"And everything else," Pam continued quietly, though her expression suddenly held no mirth.

"Yes," Eric responded, also serious again. "Everything else."

"I'm sorry, Eric," she said. "I wish things could be a little easier for you."

He shrugged. "You know that Father and I have never seen eye to eye," he said, trying once more to brush off the serious conversation.

"He loves you though," Pam said, sounding more unconvinced than she usually did when she said it.

"Of course," Eric said evenly. He gave his usual, rehearsed response. "If he didn't, he wouldn't push me so hard."

He smiled and kissed her forehead before leading her out of the house.

"Only six months until our visit with Mormor," Pam offered, not quite buying Eric's act.

"Yes. And I'm going to try for two weeks this year," Eric smiled.

"Good luck," Pam deadpanned. "Still—maybe if we staggered things? We could have our week together; I could go a week earlier than you, and you could stay a week later. Nora might be a bitch, but she would cover for us."

Eric nodded. "Let's try, lillasyster." ["little sister"]

"Yes. Let's, storebror." ["big brother"]

Eric waved as he turned to walk away from Appius's house. It was a cold day, but it was sunny, and he had just enough time to get to the MET before 1:00.


	13. Magic Wand

Chapter 13: Magic Wand

At five minutes to 1:00, just as Eric crossed the street onto Fifth Avenue, his phone rang.

"Northman," he said in greeting, since the number on the caller ID was unfamiliar to him.

"Uh—Mr. Northman—uh, it's Ben—Ben Anderson—from the MET?"

"Yes," Eric said, glancing at his watch. He was only a couple of blocks away from the museum at this point.

"It's just that Suzy's—I mean Sookie's—doing something different today than she usually does," Ben said. "She's broken her routine for the first time in almost a year," he added, the surprise clear in the chief of security's voice.

"What is she doing?" Eric asked, quickening his pace.

"She left Gallery 111 at 12:30, similar to her usual time, but she hasn't left the museum yet. She's not in the park for her lunch."

"And it's not raining!" Eric heard Doris's voice from the background.

"Where is she then?" Eric asked.

"Gallery 823," Ben reported.

"Our gallery?" Eric asked, almost to himself. He wasn't sure when he had begun thinking of it as theirs, but he had.

"Uh—yeah—the one you were in last night. Yeah. Yours—I guess."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Can you have an escort waiting to bring me to you?" Eric asked.

"I'll wait for you myself," Ben said.

Ten minutes later, Eric was standing transfixed as he looked at the monitor. With his peripheral vision, he noticed that Tony, Doris, Milos, and Ben were also captivated by the image of Sookie's profile as she looked at Van Gogh's Wheat Field with Cypresses. According to Ben, she had been studying that painting ever since she had entered the gallery—almost forty minutes before. Standing right in front of the piece, she really wasn't moving much, just a slight tilt of her head every now and then. Others coming and going from the gallery seemed annoyed that Sookie wouldn't take their hints and just move so that they could get a better look at the famous painting; however, a guard was standing in the corner of the room, and it was pretty clear that his current job was to keep others from bothering Sookie.

"Why isn't there a bench in that room—like there is in most of the other Northman Galleries?" Eric asked out loud.

"I've no idea," Ben answered.

"Isn't Tony supposed to be out front while Milos is as lunch?" Eric asked offhandedly as he remembered what he'd learned that morning about the crew's usual schedule.

"Like I said earlier, Tony's best with the computers," Ben said, smiling at Eric's attention to detail. He would have made a good guard. "I sent Mark down to the desk," he added.

"What did she bring you this morning?" Eric asked in Milos's direction, though he kept his eyes fixed on Sookie.

"Huh? Oh—my favorite—the chocolate chip scone."

"How does she know it's your favorite?"

Milos shrugged. "Who knows with that one?" he said gesturing to the screen. "Suzy's not exactly like everyone else."

"Sookie," Eric said evenly.

"Yeah—Sookie," Milos corrected himself. "Anyways, she always gets me the scone and brings a donut with sprinkles on it for Jack; that's his favorite too. But we never told her that; she just started bringing them one day." Milos smirked. "'Course I always have to josh Jack about it 'cause he's always so damned excited about those sprinkles. I've told him that a grown man shouldn't admit to wanting sprinkles."

Everyone chuckled at that—even Eric. For some reason, he liked these people, though he'd only just met them. They seemed "real" to him—like a family, almost.

Eric looked back at the screen. "I guess she's a mind-reader then," he said softly, wondering how Sookie could have known what treats were the men's favorites.

Nobody remarked on Eric's comment as they watched Sookie turn and then walk out of the gallery. Tony tapped the computer keys which would allow them to follow her progress.

She stopped in the hallway and waited at least a minute before pushing the button for the same elevator that she and Eric had gotten into the night before.

Tony shifted the camera to the view inside the small conveyance, and Eric once more regretted his rough treatment of her the night before. He was glad that he'd not asked his new-found comrades to look up that video feed. Given how protective they were of her, it was likely they would have kicked his ass. Hell—he figured he deserved it.

After exiting the elevator, Sookie quickly walked to the entrance of the museum, waving at Jack and Mark when she got to the front lobby.

"Call me when she gets back," Eric said as soon as she had exited the building. He left the room that held the hub of the MET's security and headed for Gallery 111.

Eric took two hours to peruse the Egyptian art in Gallery 111; however, he didn't read everything about each piece. He enjoyed art and history quite a bit, but he didn't have the time to read everything. He had one objective and one objective only.

When his phone vibrated, he answered it quickly.

"Mr. Northman," Ben said. "She just got back and she's headed your way."

"Put me down for the Magic Wand," Eric said into the receiver. "It's five dollars—right?"

"Uh—yes. Wait—you want to enter the betting pool?"

"Yes—the Magic Wand."

"The ivory from the hippo?" Ben asked.

"Yeah," Eric confirmed. "And don't worry. I'm good for the five dollars."

Ben chuckled and hung up as Eric moved into the next gallery over so that he could observe Sookie unseen. A few moments later, he heard her entering, her tennis shoes almost silent on the polished floor. He watched in fascination as she walked around the gallery again, occasionally jotting down a quick note. People roved in and out of the gallery, though few stayed for long since the larger artifacts from ancient Egypt were in other rooms. Sookie paid them no mind, keeping her eyes only on the exhibits in that gallery.

As always seemed to be the case, Eric was transfixed by her and kept watch.

Finally, a little more than an hour later, she pulled her camera from her bag and took a purposeful step toward the piece Eric had guessed—the Magic Wand.

Objects, such as the one Eric had been drawn to, were common enough during the late Middle Kingdom in Egypt. The particular one Eric had chosen showed signs of wear on the tip; according to the information written next to the artifact, its wear suggested that it had been used for a while before being placed in the tomb it was eventually found in. The piece was decorated on one side with figures of protective deities, most of whom carried knives to ward off evil spirits. The piece was labeled Magic Wand.

Magic.

The wand had been made with ivory from a hippopotamus and was inscribed with several beautifully carved symbols. When Eric had read what the Egyptian symbols meant, they'd struck a chord inside of him. They read "protection by day" and "protection by night."

According to its description, the Magic Wand had likely been used to draw circles of protection around people, most often while they slept; such wands were meant as a defense for people when they couldn't defend themselves. The wands could protect the living, but they were also placed in tombs to shield the dead.

The Magic Wand was the piece that Eric would have chosen to take a picture of—if he were the one choosing. He longed to be shielded from the harsh light of his days and the lonely dark of his nights. He longed to sleep in peace—to be safe from the nightmares that had plagued him for most of his life.

Sookie snapped her picture of the piece he'd picked, even as he walked back into Gallery 111—where she stood looking lovingly at the Magic Wand.

"Are you allowed to take pictures in here?" he asked from behind her.

Her body immediately stiffened, and she turned around slowly.

Several moments of silence passed between them as their eyes locked and learned of each other.

"Of course, you didn't use flash photography, so it is likely allowed," Eric commented. "Am I right?"

"Are you following me?" she stammered.

"I entered this wing of the museum over three hours ago," he replied. "You tell me."

She closed her eyes. "Am I going to be arrested?"

"Did you do anything to be arrested for?" he asked with amusement in his voice.

She shook her head as she opened her eyes.

"Well then," he said by way of an answer. He was well aware that he'd not directly responded to her concern, but Sookie seemed to take it as such and relaxed immediately.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

He smiled a little. "Why are you here?"

"I like it here," she answered.

"Me too."

She bit her lip as if she wanted to say something, but then looked away.

"What else will you take a picture of—other than this," he paused, making a show of leaning in and reading the caption, "Magic Wand?"

"Nothing," she answered, clearly inhaling his scent as he leaned closer to her.

"Is there nothing else you like in this room?" he asked suggestively, enjoying the blush his comment elicited.

"No. I mean," she stammered, "I like everything."

"Then why no other pictures, Susanna?" he asked.

Immediately, her expression fell. "Sookie?" she said as if asking a question.

"Yes—Sookie," he corrected.

Her expression immediately lightened. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Mr. Northman, I," she started.

"Eric," he corrected in a whisper. "The people I care about call me Eric."

That comment stopped her words again.

"Why only one picture, Sookie?" he asked taking a small step toward her.

"My phone," she said.

"What about it?"

"It's my only camera," she said, staring into his eyes. Only when he moistened his lips did she move her focus to them.

"And?"

"And I want to take a picture of everything," she said.

"But?"

"My phone won't hold everything in the MET," she answered.

"But it will hold the best thing—your favorite thing?"

She nodded.

"Do you come here a lot, Sookie?" he asked, taking another small step forward.

She nodded again. "Every week."

"Did you visit our gallery today?" he asked.

She blushed.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking back up into his eyes.

He bent down a little, but this time—instead of capturing her lips—he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Next week, there will be a bench there for you to sit on," he whispered even as he let himself be momentarily entrapped by the scent of her hair. An errant piece had fallen from her ponytail, and he carefully tucked the golden strand behind her ear, the backs of his fingers gently grazing her jawline after he did.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself from her presence and walked out of the gallery. He hurried toward the front entrance, looking behind him a few times to make sure she wasn't following.

"You could offer her nothing but misery," he reminded himself when he was tempted to run back to Sookie.

When he reached the front of the museum, he nodded to Milos and Jack—whose nametag read John—and then proceeded down the hall to the surveillance room. When he got there, Doris, Ben, and Tony were looking right at him.

"What?" Eric asked as he moved toward the computer station that he knew would still be showing Sookie. He wasn't wrong. She seemed frozen in her tracks, but a small smile was playing on her lips.

Eric watched until Sookie closed her eyes and seemed to come out of her stupor. After that, she walked toward the gallery door.

"Well—I guess you earned this," Ben smirked, gesturing toward a jar of money.

Eric kept his eyes on Sookie as Tony continued to switch cameras. He pulled his wallet out and took out a ten dollar bill. "I'll be back next week. Double or nothing," he said before he left the surveillance room so that he could follow Sookie out of the museum.


	14. Benchmark, Part 1

Chapter 14: Benchmark, Part 1

February 5, 2012

Eric walked into Gallery 823 and looked at the position of the bench that had been added a little more than two weeks before. He took a seat on it and smiled, knowing that Sookie would be sitting just where he was in a few hours. The bench had been installed right where he wanted it—right in front of Wheat Field with Cypresses.

Eric closed his eyes and once more replayed the scene where he and Sookie stood in front of Van Gogh's painting and kissed. The softness of her hair. The hesitation and then possessiveness of her lips. The questing of her tongue. Her hands pulling him closer. Closer. Closer.

Eric took a ragged breath and opened his eyes. In order to avoid becoming aroused in a public space in which kids might be milling around, he had to shut down his memory before letting himself get too lost in it. He looked around the room. The Northman Galleries were popular—most likely because they included pieces by artists with which many people were familiar. One did not need to be an art aficionado to have heard of Vincent Van Gogh or Claude Monet or Pablo Picasso. Plus, the Northman Galleries were next to a gallery that housed additional pieces by Picasso, and according to Ben, that room was among the most traveled in the museum.

However, despite its popularity and despite the fact that there were—even then—nine other people in the room with Eric, Gallery 823 felt like it belonged to Sookie and him. The floor where they had stood was their floor. The painting that they had stood in front of was their painting. The air in the room was theirs to breathe—only theirs.

He inhaled deeply and let that air fill his lungs. He'd always loved the smell of the MET. The museum was kept immaculately clean; however, the odor of cleansing products did not make up the dominant smell. On the contrary, the air filtering units in the museum, designed to limit the amount of dust and other substances that could potentially damage the priceless art, seemed to make the air crisper somehow—somehow more alive. Or maybe it was the art itself that enlivened everything else in the room. Eric didn't know. All that he knew was that he liked the scent—and that it, too, was meant for Sookie and him.

He ran his hand over the smooth surface of the bench. When he'd spoken to one of the assistant directors of the MET the Monday after he'd met Sookie, he had been both vague and specific about his donation and what he wanted it to do. The specific part was easy; he needed for there to be a bench in Gallery 823, but that was too narrow of a request and might have made the assistant director suspicious about "why" he had asked for something so particular. And—though he trusted Ben and his crew because of their special connection to Sookie—others might ask questions that could get back to Appius. And Eric couldn't risk that; he couldn't risk Sookie.

Thus, Eric had been vague about the "why." He'd simply stated that he thought it was odd that three of the ten Northman Galleries didn't have benches so that patrons could enjoy the art better. Once he'd made this comment, the assistant director did the rest of the work, so to speak. As it had turned out, a cutback of funds had prevented the installation of quite a few things—including new benches—that had been earmarked for a number of galleries—including Gallery 823. A twenty thousand dollar donation later, and the funds were available for all the installations. Eric's only request was that the benches for the Northman Galleries be installed first, and by that Thursday, they had been.

Eric did some mental math, deducting the twenty thousand from the money market account he'd set up so that he could eventually buy Bobby's NP stock. Luckily, Bobby was not in a hurry to sell, and Eric didn't want his father to know about his "extra" stock either. So there was time.

Though the whole world would have imagined that he was filthy rich, twenty thousand dollars out of his savings was not something Eric sneezed at, but he was good at saving money. And he still had plenty to live on.

His position as Deputy CEO earned him a large salary. Because of a contract he'd signed with his father, his salary was based on the average figure earned by Deputy CEOs in the publishing business—the industry standard, so to speak. That put him at $2.5 million a year—before taxes. Of course, NP was anything but "average"; as CEO, Appius earned 30 million a year, and he had a lot of lucrative real estate ventures and oil investments as well.

However, Eric didn't mind the inequity, even though he was independently running the international division of NP, which accounted for about one-third of the company's quarterly profits. Eric had not grown up in an entitled way; thus, he was extremely grateful for the money he earned and understood how much the $1.3 million he made after taxes was compared to what most people had. Plus, it was a lot more than he'd initially been paid at NP.

In fact, until he was 21, Eric had had very little experience with real money, though he had studied economics quite extensively.

Throughout his years at exclusive boarding schools, Eric had—of course—seen that the other kids had spending money. His first school, Murray Academy, was the hardest-to-get-into boarding school for elementary-aged children in the United States. All the kids there were from extremely wealthy families. And those kids tended to have large allowances. Eric had not.

When he and his classmates got older and could leave campus to go to movies or arcades or restaurants or stores, Eric would always claim that he had to study. In actuality, he would have liked to have gone with them, but he had no money to pay for even a single movie ticket or fast food hamburger.

Eric had found his recreation in other ways. He had borrowed a lot of books from the library, devouring them while the people around him played expensive video games on their expensive personal computers. When his classmates had gone out, he had gone to the stables and helped to brush out the horses that the school owned for polo and other sports. Students weren't allowed to ride them for recreation, but Headmaster Burnham—Godric—had made an arrangement for him to help the stable hands.

And then Godric had talked to the headmaster at his second boarding school—Exeter Academy. Since Murray Academy only went through the eighth grade, Eric started ninth grade at Exeter. Luckily, the headmistress there, a woman named Dorothy Ripley, was open to letting Eric help in the stables too. In fact, after Eric turned 16, she even arranged that he earn a little money for his work, since she could employ students to do part-time tasks without parental permission once they were 16.

However, by then, other students had stopped asking Eric if he wanted to go out with them. So—he'd tucked the little bit of money he earned into his sock drawer.

After boarding school came college; he had scholarships for that, and those took care of both his room and board and his tuition. He drew up a careful budget for a few personal necessities that were not provided: soap, shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent, and quarters for the laundry machine. No longer able to rely on his school uniforms for his day-to-day wardrobe, he found a secondhand clothing store where he purchased enough clothing to get him through a week at a time.

Things didn't become difficult for Eric until the first holiday came around: Thanksgiving. He'd been used to staying at boarding school during that short holiday. But even though the dorms at Harvard stayed open so that he had a place to stay, the cafeteria shut down for a few days. Luckily, Eric had enough money saved to buy food. However, he began to worry about where he would stay during the winter break since his father had already informed him that he would no longer be welcome to lodge in the family home during his school breaks now that he was in college. The dorms were closed for three weeks, and Eric had only limited funds. He had no idea how long he would have to make them last. For all he knew, he would have to stretch his meager savings until he was 21. He tried to get a job, but freshmen in his scholarship program were not allowed to have jobs—not even of the part-time variety—and the Dean had seen no reason to make an exception for him.

Eric had contemplated calling his mormor, but he didn't want to be a burden; plus, he didn't know how to explain to her just why he needed a plane ticket and a place to stay. Moreover, he had been informed by letter that he was required to go to Appius's home in Manhattan for Christmas day, though he was not invited to spend the night. He was to arrive promptly at 9:00 a.m. for a meeting with Appius. For the meeting, he was to bring a file, which included his grades for the semester and a typed report "accounting for his time at Harvard." At 11:00 a.m., he would be expected in the family room as presents were opened. He would be allowed to stay through Christmas dinner, but Appius warned that he was to "behave himself" and speak only when spoken to so that he wouldn't "shame himself or the family." He was to make his excuses and leave at 2:00 p.m. sharp. Eric figured the invitation to stay beyond his "meeting" with Appius had come from Tamara or was for the benefit of "appearances." Either way, however, it wasn't feasible for him to go to Sweden for the holiday since Christmas split the vacation time in two.

After several weeks of planning, Eric had found a cheap hotel near Jackson Square. He took exactly one-third of the money he had saved. With it, he paid for three weeks at the hotel and some cheap food he could store in the room. The only cash he had remaining after that was $35, more than enough for his bus ticket. However, on his way to buy his ticket, Eric had been mugged in the rough neighborhood that he was staying in, and his money had been stolen. He had no way to get back into the dorms to secure more money. So—in the end—it had been his $29 bus ticket that Eric hadn't been able to afford. He had finally had to swallow his pride and call Godric—collect.

Calling from a Western Union, Eric had asked Godric for thirty dollars, promising that he would pay the money back with interest as soon as he could.

Godric hadn't sent the money. Instead, his former headmaster had demanded to know where Eric was staying and had driven to Boston that very night.

Not being able to afford to do laundry, Eric had worn the same clothes for several days, saving his clean items for Christmas. Thus, Godric had found him rather dirty and smelly. Eric had also been beaten up during the mugging. He'd suffered some cracked and bruised ribs when the mugger kicked him several times before running away with the $35 dollars in Eric's pocket.

Godric had said nothing. He'd simply added the unopened cans of Vienna sausages Eric had on the dresser to Eric's still-packed suitcase and led him out of the hotel where the population consisted of mostly drug users, pushers, prostitutes, and rodents.

The headmaster didn't ask why Eric let out a painful groan when he got into the car, nor did he ask how Eric had ended up in the place he'd been. Godric already knew. He knew that Eric hadn't fallen in with the wrong crowd; he knew that Eric hadn't gotten involved with drugs. Godric knew that Eric wasn't at the roach-infested motel to pick up prostitutes.

Godric had driven Eric to a hospital so that his ribs could be looked at. Two had hairline fractures, but mostly there was just bad bruising. His ribs were wrapped by the doctor as Eric shook on the exam table—not because of pain, but because he didn't know how to pay for the treatment. In the end, Godric paid and then handed a copy of the bill to Eric.

Eric smiled a little as he looked up at the painting—his and Sookie's painting. Godric had known that Eric would need to pay him back, and the two had never spoken of the matter—not even when Eric handed him an envelope with the full amount of the bill a week later.

After they had left the hospital, Godric drove Eric to Manhattan, asking him only about how his first semester at Harvard had gone. Eric liked studying at Harvard and planned to get a double major in business and architecture, though he hadn't included the second part of his plan in his "report" to his father. Eric had made all A's his first semester. When they got to Manhattan, Godric dropped Eric off at Bobby's apartment near NYU. Eric hadn't learned until his Christmas meeting with Appius two days later that Godric had gone straight to the Northman Mansion after that.

Appius had been furious about Godric's visit and had spent much of his and Eric's "meeting" telling Eric that it was his fault that he had no place to stay during the holidays. He made sure that Eric knew it was his own defects that kept others from befriending him or wanting him around. He claimed that Godric had demanded money—and a lot of it—for taking care of Eric and reminded the eighteen-year-old how much of an encumbrance he was to his family.

Appius did, however, hand Eric a check for forty thousand dollars at the end of the meeting. Appius explained that the money was all Eric would be receiving from him until he was hired at Northman Publishing after he finished school. With the money, Eric would be expected to buy clothing and other personal necessities. He was to use it to buy his yearly airplane ticket to Sweden, which Appius had bought up until that time. However, most of the money was to finance Eric joining the "right" fraternity and the "right" clubs. Appius gave Eric a list of the organizations that he was expected to be a part of and the achievements he was expected to earn.

The clubs and the fraternity were expensive, but Eric somehow managed to stretch the money until his twenty-first birthday when he got his inheritance from this grandfather John. He'd never had to ask for help again. The forty thousand dollars had paid back Godric for the hospital bill. It had financed his tickets to Sweden, it had covered the school books his scholarship didn't, it had allowed him to purchase clothing at the secondhand shop when he needed it, and it had covered the added expenses he had during his winter breaks from school. But—as Appius had ordered—most of it had been spent on fraternity and club dues.

After Eric turned 21, his life certainly changed. His grandfather John had made him wealthy by giving him a substantial portion of NP stock and a large chunk of money. Eric's business classes had taught him what to do with the wealth to help it to grow, and he had treated the inheritance almost as if it had belonged to someone else—not trusting that it was really his. Plus, his sparse life had taught him to live simply.

However, he had splurged a little. Instead of staying in the dorms, Eric had rented a tiny apartment near campus so that he could study more efficiently. By then, he'd also gotten a job at a coffee shop. He started buying the members of his family appropriate Christmas gifts that year. And he bought his first car: a crappy yellow Datsun that looked as if it was on its last legs every minute, but always managed to get him from point A to point B. But—for the most part—he let his inheritance grow as he put his acumen for investing to good use.

"Hey," Bobby said from next to him. "Why are you smiling?"

"I was remembering the yellow Datsun," Eric returned, looked up at his friend.

"That car was such a piece of shit," Bobby laughed, sitting next to Eric on the bench.

Eric nodded.

"Eric, what's all this about?" Bobby asked quietly after the two had stayed silent for a few minutes. "I mean—I understand why you wanted me to find out about her, given the fact that she told you about the de Castro thing, but you and I both know that the girl's not involved with anything illegal."

Eric nodded. "I know."

"Then why—after three weeks—am I still following around the most boring individual on the planet?" Bobby asked.

"Boring?" Eric asked with surprise in his voice. She was anything but boring to him.

Bobby sighed. "Yes, Eric. Susanna Stackhouse is—perhaps—the most boring individual I've ever encountered."

"Sookie," Eric corrected. "She's Sookie."

Bobby shook his head with confusion and kept his voice low since more people had just wandered into the gallery. "What is she to you, Eric? I've certainly never seen you be interested in a woman for more than a quick fuck. You seem almost," he paused, "protective of Susa—Sookie. Are you afraid that de Castro knows she supplied you with the information about the spies?"

"No," Eric said.

"Then what is it?" Bobby asked.

"I," Eric stopped for a moment. "I need to know her," he shrugged. "I can't tell you why that is. I don't know myself."

Bobby sighed. "Then why not just talk to her?" he asked.

"You know why," Eric responded.

"No—I don't. Why not pursue her if you are so infatuated with her?"

Eric shook his head. "You and I both know that would lead to nothing but pain for her."

Bobby sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," Eric said insistently.

"Are you?" Bobby asked. "You seem a little obsessed with this woman."

Eric laughed ruefully. "I am—a little. Maybe more than a little, but I'll get over it."

Bobby sighed and shook his head. "Okay. Did you get my report?"

Eric nodded. He'd now had Bobby following Sookie for three weeks, and his friend was right. Most would consider Sookie's life to be boring. She rode the subway to work and arrived in the office right on time every day. She left at the end of her workday and rode straight back to Brooklyn, except on Tuesdays when she went to Claudine Crane's office, obviously for therapy. On Saturday mornings, she shopped at a grocery store in her neighborhood. On Saturday afternoons, she went to a public library. On Sundays, she came to the MET. According to Bobby, she interacted with very few people.

"Do you want me to keep following her?" Bobby asked after they had been quiet for a few minutes.

"No," Eric sighed. "Not all the time—at least. But I want you to hire someone part-time to keep an eye on her."

"How do you mean?"

Eric dragged his fingers through his hair. "It seems like she's alone a lot in that house, especially on the weekends. I don't like that. I just want to know that she's," he paused, "safe. So I want someone to watch over her from the time she gets home Friday night to the time she comes here on Sunday."

"So you want a guard for her?" Bobby asked.

"Just someone watching out for her," Eric sighed. "Just so she's not alone so many nights," he added quietly. "And her housemate tends to be home on weeknights."

"I suppose you don't want her to find out about this?" Bobby asked.

"No," Eric responded. "And I don't even want a report unless her routine changes."

"Then why do all this?" Bobby asked.

"Because—I need to," Eric returned.

"Eric, you know that I will help you in any way I can—right?"

Eric nodded. "It's difficult to believe sometimes, but I do know it, Bobby."

"Okay then. I'll ask Alcide Herveaux to watch out for her. He's ex-special forces and between jobs right now."

"Thanks."

Bobby sighed. "I do worry about you, Eric. Before he died, my father asked me to watch out for you."

"You do," Eric said a little gruffly. He shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Isabel is coming back to the city next week."

"That's good," Bobby said with a little smile. "You like her."

Eric nodded. "Yes."

"Are you going to see her?"

"Yes."

"You could do a lot worse than Isabel Edgington," Bobby added.

"I know," Eric responded.

"And Sookie?" Bobby asked.

"Sookie is not for me," Eric said evenly.

"You deserve to be happy, Eric."

Eric said nothing to that.

"Alcide will start on Friday," Bobby said as he patted his friend's shoulder before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

In truth, the concept of happiness was a bit beyond Eric. Certainly, he was better off than he had been before. He made a good deal of money, enough to afford a huge home, though that home came with a big mortgage.

However, when Pam had asked Eric to get a house in the same building she was going to live in, Eric hadn't been able to refuse the idea of living near a part of his family. He'd spent a large proportion of his inheritance from his grandfather John for his down payment. He'd used even more of that money to turn the house into a place that he truly loved—a place that was a sanctuary to him.

And his salary from NP covered his monthly expenses well enough. He was even able to reinvest the dividends he got from his NP stock. However, Eric was not one to trust that he'd have money forever, so he had saved as much as he could.

Unfortunately, the image he was expected to maintain "as a Northman" didn't help him to save as much as he wanted to.

Right after Eric had graduated from business school, Appius surprised the hell out of him by actually hiring him at NP; though Appius had told Eric that was "the plan for his life" from the time he was ten years old, Eric hadn't really believed it would happen until it did. Even more surprising was that Appius invited Eric to live in one of the apartments in Northman Tower. Though it wasn't one of the two penthouses in the building, the apartment was much more luxurious than what Eric had been used to.

Most surprising of all was that Appius had treated Eric better—almost like a son—after he began working for the family company. Eric had felt hopeful; however, he'd also been suspicious—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He was right to doubt Appius's actions.

As it turned out, Appius had a reason for pretending to "accept" his son, and soon enough, the Northman patriarch told Eric that he was no longer welcome to live at Northman Tower. Eric was, however, ordered to use the apartment for his liaisons—but just so that he wouldn't shame the family by being photographed with some "tart." Appius gave him 48 hours to move his personal items out of Northman Tower.

Not in the position to be picky, Eric had rented a small, furnished apartment on the Lower East Side. Two days after he'd moved in, his grandmother Grace had "visited" him. As soon as she had entered the tiny apartment, she had crinkled up her nose with disgust and proclaimed that his living arrangements were not acceptable and that his choices were going to dishonor all Northmans.

After that, she had spent two hours dictating to Eric what kind of image he was required to project "as a Northman." It had been the longest interaction he'd ever had with his paternal grandmother. She'd left him with a list of "appropriate addresses" and "mandatory social functions." Since then, his grandmother's secretary had emailed him once a month with a "social calendar" that he was expected to adhere to. And if Eric didn't attend all required functions, there was hell to pay from both his grandmother and Appius.

Eric sighed. His grandmother's demands weren't so bad—not really. Many of the social events were also charity functions, and he enjoyed learning about ways he could help people. Plus, it was just better not to rock the boat too much. And he always had his home to give him respite.

Eric glanced at his watch and stood up, looking one last time at the golden wheat field in Van Gogh's painting. It was almost time for Sookie to be done with her morning perusal of the gallery she'd chosen that day. He knew that she would stop by "their" gallery before leaving the museum for her lunch, so he slipped out of the room and went to the control center so that he could watch Sookie sit on the bench he'd been sitting on all morning—the bench he'd arranged as a gift for her.

He knew that seeing her there would make him feel something. Make him feel better.


	15. Benchmark, Part 2

Chapter 15: Benchmark, Part 2

March 18, 2012

As Sookie sat on her "usual" park bench and ate her lunch, she thought about how her world had changed and then "resettled" in the two months since her two encounters with Eric Northman. If their first interaction had caused her usually heavily structured life to be unsettled completely, the second had placed her squarely back onto her feet and given her the courage to walk forward.

The Sunday after that second encounter, there had been a new bench waiting for her when she went to Gallery 823. It was positioned perfectly—right in front of Van Gogh's Wheat Field with Cypresses. However, Eric had not been there, nor had he approached her any other Sunday since then. He'd not sought her out at work either.

Still—Sookie felt the inevitability of another meeting with Eric Northman, even though the thought of it scared her as much as it excited her. As she'd told Claudine the week before, she was anxious to see him again—"anxious" in all of the contradictory connotations of that word. She wanted to see him—more than anything. But she was nervous. She was eager, yet uneasy. Claudine had posited that—based on what Sookie had told her about their two prior encounters—Eric likely felt the same way she did.

Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if Eric was trying to "get ready" for a third meeting just as she was. If his core had been shaken as hers had been, then he, too, may have needed time to steady himself. In truth, a big part of Sookie was glad that he hadn't approached her yet. As much as she longed for him in a way she couldn't explain, she still felt that she needed more time. The feelings that he brought out of her were frightening and exhilarating all at once, and she wasn't quite prepared for them.

However, despite that fact, she was feeling more and more certain of herself every day. She was building a life for herself that made her content, and for the first time, she was feeling "right" in her own skin. She felt "good."

She smiled a little. She couldn't help but to be proud of the progress she'd made—not just to "be more normal," but to accept herself if she wasn't quite normal. She was even beginning to "like" who she was—to like Sookie Stackhouse.

Sookie closed her eyes and enjoyed the warming breeze. A few hardy flowers had already bloomed, though it was not yet officially spring and the winter had been harsh. It had rained the night before, and the world seemed to be teeming with new life. In so many ways, it felt like spring had come to her life too—a spring to replace a bitter, long winter.

Sookie was grateful for the change of seasons, and she was grateful for Eric Northman for unwittingly helping her to change them. She opened her eyes and looked out over the Turtle Pond, which had become one of her favorite places in Central Park. She let her mind wander as she watched the late winter breeze cause ripples in the water.

After the NP party in January, things had happened quickly regarding the de Castro situation—at least as it involved Felipe's spies.

Sookie had "overheard" from the lips of her fellow copy editors that John Quinn, who turned out to be the head of security and who had been the object of many crushes, had been fired the Monday after the party. Though Sookie hadn't known Quinn's name, she had seen him before, and he was a striking man—though her tastes did not include men who were so bulky with musculature. She also wasn't a big fan of the shaved-head look, though she could certainly understand the appeal of his unique eyes and his well-constructed body to others. Dawn, especially, lamented the loss of Quinn since she had enjoyed "hooking up" with him on occasion.

Rumor had it that Quinn had been fired because he and Eric had gotten into an altercation over Nora. Arlene had been the first to "report" the buzz as far as Sookie knew; thus, Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if the redhead had fabricated the entire story to make herself the center of attention. Either way, Arlene's story had quickly spread through Northman Tower.

Arlene claimed to have seen Quinn being escorted from the building the day he was fired. According to the company scandalmonger, Eric had been "supervising Quinn's removal." The next day when Sookie "overheard" the story from two women in the company cafeteria, that "supervising" had turned into Eric and Quinn getting into a fistfight in the lobby of the building before Eric literally threw the larger man out onto the sidewalk. Two days later, the story included Eric being arrested and Quinn being rushed to the hospital by ambulance. Another version reported that Eric had "literally beaten Quinn to a bloody pulp," which necessitated Appius having to bribe a judge to prevent his eldest son from going to prison.

Of course, when the rumors about "what" had happened had not been enough, guesses about "why" it had happened had begun in earnest. Arlene and her cohorts speculated that Eric may have found Nora and Quinn fucking in his own office. And since no one put that kind of behavior above Nora, the conjecture had become rumor and then "fact."

From there, the story evolved to echo each teller's fantasies, as rumors always did. Sometimes, Nora had been screwing Quinn in Eric's office as a kind of revenge since other rumors purported that Eric was still seeing Freyda de Castro on the side. Other times, Nora and Freyda were the ones screwing, and Quinn had needed to restrain Eric from killing the two women out of a jealous rage; in this version, the innocent Quinn had been caught in the crossfire. Other times, Quinn and Eric were the ones fucking, and Nora had walked in on them.

The only fact in the story, as far as Sookie could tell, was that Quinn was gone.

In early February—when it was learned that Sandy Seacrest, Appius's personal assistant, had also been let go the day after the party, another round of gossip jetted through the halls and elevator shafts of Northman Tower. Fueling the rumors was the fact that Sandy's dismissal had been kept quiet. Led once more by Arlene, the bigmouths at NP speculated that Sandy and Appius had been having the affair and had gotten caught in flagrante in Appius's office—by Quinn. Maudette, Sookie's coworker with the most active imagination, speculated that there must have been a love triangle between Quinn, Sandy, and Appius.

Soon after, the rumor spread that it was Appius—not Eric—who had hit Quinn in a jealous rage and that Quinn was lucky to have kept his life. Of course, Arlene yammered that she wouldn't be surprised if Quinn had an "accident" soon. After all, Appius was known for being ruthless, and Arlene ventured that there was more than one body buried in the foundation of Northman Tower.

The week after that, a new wrinkle was added to the story as Andre Leclerq, Sophie-Anne Leclerq-Northman's brother, was thrown into the mix. Rumor had it that Sophie-Anne insisted that Andre be hired as Appius's personal assistant as a condition of her staying married to Appius after his "scandalous infidelity" with Sandy. Arlene even said that she had witnessed the after-effects of a little "cat fight" between Sophie-Anne and Sandy. Arlene claimed that the previous December, Sandy had exited the elevator with a clear hand print on her cheek and that Sophie-Anne had looked "incredibly satisfied" as she followed Sandy out of the conveyance.

It was odd, Sookie thought, that none of Arlene's rabid followers questioned her about why she hadn't spoken of that particular episode before. When Sam overheard her retelling the story at lunch, he did ask that question. Ever the consummate story-weaver, Arlene just shook her head sadly, claiming that she had remained silent in an attempt "to protect Sophie-Anne from her husband's betrayals." To his credit, Sam had just rolled his eyes and walked away from Arlene and her gathered audience.

Even if Sookie hadn't known the real reason why Quinn and Sandy had been fired, she wouldn't have believed the gossip about a love triangle between Quinn, Sandy, and Appius—at least not in the way it was being spoken about. She'd not seen Appius many times, but his body language made her guess that any love triangle between the three would have starred Quinn in the middle.

Moreover, from unintentionally "reading" Andre's lips in the lobby one day, Sookie was pretty sure that he hadn't been put in the office to keep Appius faithful to Sophie-Ann. Far from it! Before Sookie had looked away, she'd picked up that Appius and Andre were incredibly "close" and that Andre enjoyed being tied up with Appius's neckties. Sookie sighed. That was certainly information that she wished she had never "heard."

Of course, Sookie had said nothing about the situation with Quinn and Sandy, even though she knew why they had really been fired. Just the same, she'd been fascinated by the gossip that she "saw" on people's lips and overheard in the ladies' room. As it had grown and spread, she'd studied Pam, the only Northman she saw on a consistent basis. If the rumors about her family had bothered her, it couldn't have been detected by looking at Pam. In fact, her face had held only amusement when she'd walked through the main room of the department one day as Arlene was loudly spreading one of her more colorful tales.

Later, when Nora had come to the editing department for a meeting, Sookie had seen Pam and her talking as they walked toward Sam's office. Pam was telling Nora about Arlene's outlandish slapping tale. "As if," Nora had responded to the story. "Sophie-Anne would never risk a nail by slapping anyone," Nora had observed. The two had shared a laugh before they caught Sookie staring. They'd both given her a somewhat disgusted look; thus, Sookie had quickly buried her nose back into her work, looking forward to the day when she'd be able to move into her new workspace.

The best thing about the office gossip regarding the Northmans was that it took everyone's focus off of Sookie—at least for the most part. However, there was one complication in Sookie's attempt to achieve anonymity. When the yearly proficiency reports came out for the copy editors and Sam met with them as a group, he unintentionally caused the others to be even more contemptuous of her. It didn't surprise Sookie that she had scored well above the others in accuracy and speed, but Sam's giving that information out loud at the meeting certainly made her life a little more difficult for a while. After the meeting, Sookie made a point of "listening in" to her coworkers when they were in the cafeteria discussing their own statistics.

During her next therapy session, Claudine and she'd had a long talk about how Sookie was being treated at the office. Since Sookie was reticent about talking to Sam or confronting those who were bullying her, Claudine suggested a different tactic. Claudine posited that jealousy was just as strong of a motive for the others' disdain as Sookie's "uniqueness." And though it went against both of the women's personal inclinations, they talked about how it might be better if Sookie tried to underperform for a while so that the others' envy would wane. Of course, Sookie could not "underperform" too much if she wanted to keep her job; thus, the information she'd discovered about the other copy editors' rates of speed and accuracy levels had been crucial.

All of the other copy editors were very good at their jobs; otherwise, Northman Publishing wouldn't have hired them. But to limit their errors, they had to work slower than Sookie normally did; plus, occasional mistakes, mostly of the punctuation variety, did periodically creep into their work.

Sookie made the decision that her comfort level at work outweighed her need to be perfect at her job, even though she hated the fact that she was altering herself for the bullies in her department. However, Sookie needed to keep her job, and one more complaint would lead to Pam firing her.

Remembering her school days when she would purposely miss questions on tests so that she would get C's and not A's, Sookie intentionally "missed" a couple of things in her newest project—though she made sure not to leave major errors in the text. At one point, the author had used a hyphen instead of a dash as he should have, but Sookie "missed" that error. At another point, a semicolon had been misused, but she left that too. All told, she left five mistakes in the manuscript—all of them minor, but all of them errors which she would have normally caught.

Sookie waited until right before the book went to publication—while there was still time to make changes even though it was inconvenient—to email Sam about the several "last-minute" errors she'd "just found."

When Sam came to her station to give her his patented speech about punctuation being as important as words—something she'd heard him give at least five times to other copy editors—she celebrated inside, even as the others gloated.

"Sorry, Mr. Merlotte. I'll slow down a bit," had been Sookie's reply to the lecture. And she had slowed down a little after that—her previous "errors" justifying her change in rate. It wasn't in her personality to leave mistakes in people's hard work on purpose, but she could slow down without feeling bad about doing it—especially now that she knew how fast she "should" have been working.

Thus, between the rampant gossip about the Northmans and Sookie's little reprimand from Sam, Arlene and the others stopped paying much attention to Sookie. Also, though it was difficult—since she'd spent most of her life reading lips and still counted on that skill almost as much as her hearing—Sookie tried not to do it as much—or, at least, not as obviously.

Through mid-February, however, her main problem had been that she still worked in a large central space with a lot of people in it. When she saw movement that looked like a conversation, she was automatically drawn to the people's lips. That was how she'd learned to function in school before her hearing had been restored. That was how she had been able to avoid her mother's wrath, so not "listening" was difficult for her.

On March 1, things became infinitely easier for her when she was moved into her new workspace. The office was large and even had a window, and even though part of it was being used for storage, Sookie was happy to have the private space. She was even happier to learn that Arlene had been told by Sam that the move was more for the others' benefit than for Sookie's. Thus, the others had taken Sookie's move as a victory and as a sign that they were being catered to; both of those things were beneficial to Sookie. In fact, since the move, Arlene and the others had all but ignored her, and she was glad that she no longer had to interact with most of the people in her department. With Claudine's help, Sookie was still working on her social skills, but she really didn't want to practice them with people like Arlene, Maudette, and Dawn.

Sookie continued to have a "social" conversation with the familiar guards at the MET every week. Moreover, a new copy editor, Holly, had been hired in mid-February, and the woman had shown immediate disdain for the kinds of conversations and gossiping that Arlene and her cohorts participated in. Holly had not, however, been reticent about befriending the girl the others called "odd." In fact, Sookie and Holly often ate their lunches together, and the two had developed what Sookie would call a casual friendship. Of course, Sookie was still working through her "trust issues," as Claudine called them. But she was getting better each day—even relaxing around Holly. And—of course—Sookie practiced her social skills with Amelia a lot too. She'd even told both Amelia and Claudine about her ability to read lips, as well as about being deaf until she was seventeen. She'd also opened up to Amelia about her interest in Eric, which had been another big step for her.

Sookie smiled. Her number of friends was growing, but she was afraid to let her guard down completely, and some habits were hard to break. For instance, at work, she'd placed her desk so that she was facing the door and not the window. The idea of being sneaked up on still scared her very much.

However, the natural light from her window at work energized Sookie, and she found herself able to work even faster in that light and without the distraction of others' lips moving around her. Of course, that meant that she had to consciously slow down even more; she'd actually taken to reading many of her projects twice or even three times: the first time to copy edit them and the subsequent times to enjoy the books or to learn from them.

When her office door was closed, she would spend some of her time looking outside. Because she was on one of the lower floors of Northman Tower, she saw mostly other buildings, but there were also slivers of sky poking through—mostly white or gray, but sometimes blue. When she saw the blue, she allowed herself to think about the summer sky in Bon Temps. She'd always liked to lie in the sun and stare into the blue sky, which was so often cloudless in Louisiana. She'd loved the vastness of it. And it had provided respite for her. Now when she thought about that blue, she thought about Eric Northman's eyes.

Since their second encounter in January, she'd not seen him at all—not even at a meeting for all NP employees two weeks before. If he had been at the meeting, he had kept to the shadows even better than he usually did. A sixth sense had told her that he was there, looking for her—or looking at her. But she couldn't be sure.

She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, it was possible—likely even—that Eric had better things to do than to think of her, let alone to look for her.

Two weeks before as she'd sat in the company cafeteria with Holly, Sookie had "heard" the gossip that Eric had moved on from Nora as well as Freyda de Castro. Apparently, he was dating Isabel Edgington, whom he had also dated a couple of years before—at least according to Arlene. Isabel was the daughter of Russell Edgington, who ran Vibrant, a fashion magazine. Vibrant was well known for its cutting-edge content and its interactive online version. Amelia raved about it.

Given Eric and Isabel's almost celebrity status in New York high society—as well as Eric's highly publicized dismissal of Freyda de Castro—Eric and Isabel's pictures had been featured on Page 6 of the New York Post quite a few times in the past weeks. The Post had confirmed that the couple was "an item."

Isabel Edgington was beautiful and there was an intelligence in her eyes that came through even in pictures; in truth, she seemed to complement Eric both in looks and in the way she carried herself. She was obviously taller than Sookie, and she looked healthy, even though she was slenderer than Sookie. She had dark hair—almost black—and it shined even in the matte pictures of the newspaper. In fact, Eric and she clearly shined together.

Sookie wanted to dislike Isabel, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something about the woman seemed "nice," and Eric looked relaxed in the photos that had captured them together. However, for the first time in Sookie's life, she did feel jealousy.

Sookie thought a lot about Eric—even more than she'd done the year before. And she couldn't help but to wonder if he thought about her too. She also couldn't help but to wonder if he was serious about Isabel.

She still didn't know why he hadn't had her arrested or fired in January. In fact, her involvement in the whole Quinn/Sandy/Victor/Felipe thing didn't seem to be known; at least, it was not on the lips of the people she came in contact with.

Sookie sighed and thought about the impossibility of the fantasies she couldn't help but to have about Eric Northman. She touched her lips—remembering what it had felt like to have his lips on hers.

However, she also liked to think about the tenderness of his kiss on her forehead in Gallery 111. Both of those kisses were totally unlike anything she'd ever known before, and they were also so unlike each other. One had ignited her passion, and the other had comforted her like cool water. Both had changed her life.

After them, she'd felt a little more hopeful, a little more confident in herself where men were concerned. She'd even gone out with Amelia and Claudine two Saturdays before, and a man named Preston had taken her number, though he hadn't called her yet. However, it was something.

Again—she couldn't help but to be proud of herself. She knew that she was moving slowly toward what most people would consider "normal," and although she might never get there fully, Claudine had helped her to understand that she only had to get far enough to find happiness for herself.

Sookie smiled as she got up and began to walk slowly back to the MET. By far, the most healing part of Sookie's life remained her Sundays at the museum. During her visits there, she just concentrated on the art and ignored the people who would roam in and out of her chosen gallery for the day.

Her time at the MET was a rest to her. Of course, staying out of sight from anyone with lips that she could read could also be considered as "rest." However, that was isolating. The MET gave Sookie something she'd never enjoyed before. She was around people there; however, the art was enough to keep her from studying those people.

And Sookie found that she liked—really liked—to have people milling around her. She especially liked the families. She had been lonely for so much of her life, and being around people was good for her. Hardly anyone noticed her in the museum, which she also liked. No one was around her long enough to form the opinion that she was "strange" or "odd" or "touched in the head"—as some women in the South had liked to describe her. Plus, going there got her out of her small room, which had four close corners that she sometimes found herself unwittingly staring into.

Moreover, she was learning that most people wouldn't look at her like she was "peculiar" if she just kept her eyes on their eyes—instead of on their lips—when she spoke to them.

With Eric—for some reason—that had been easy. But—then again—looking into his eyes was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

Sookie sighed as she thought about him again. Each of her visits to the museum included a stop in Gallery 823 now. Though that particular gallery was often well-peopled on Sundays, most didn't spend much time looking at any painting in particular. So—in a lot of ways—Sookie felt like she had Wheat Field with Cypresses all to herself.

And sitting on her bench—her gift from Eric—Sookie could enjoy the room and get lost in her favorite memories, at least a little while.

Sookie understood well that her life would still seem quite closed-off to others, but—in truth—she felt that she was opening up, just like the snowdrops in the park. As if laughing in the face of the cold, those little white flowers were popping up all along the path she always took from the MET to the Turtle Pond. Their buds faced downward, but when she'd "raised the chin" of one of the little flowers, she'd found it beautiful.

Sookie sighed. She'd only approached the kind of contentment that she was currently enjoying one other time—when she had been in her relationship with Bill. But—even then—it wasn't the same. She'd been getting all of her confidence from Bill that time; this time, it seemed to be coming from her—from within—despite the fact that Eric had helped to spark it.

Sookie stopped and bent down to look at a particularly dense cluster of snowdrops. Yes. The little flowers were as beautiful as they were tough.

Over the last several weeks, she had been talking to Claudine about Bill—a lot—finally ready to deal with some of the wounds his actions had inflicted upon her. Indeed, Claudine had helped her to realize a lot of truths about the period of her life that she'd been with Bill.

Sookie had just started her second semester of graduate school when she met Bill. Graduate school had proven to be much better for Sookie in terms of how many people she had to be around. Instead of upper division classes with thirty people in them, she had seminars with ten or fifteen. Her living arrangements were also better. Her small efficiency apartment was a place where she could be more comfortable than in the dorms, even though her hall leaders had quit placing roommates with her by the end of her sophomore year as an undergraduate. Understandably, all of her roommates had complained about Sookie's propensity for staring into the corner of the room for hours on end and had requested to be moved within weeks of being placed with her.

As a graduate student, Sookie was also able to do all of her copy editing work from home, which was another godsend, and two days before she'd met Bill, she'd found out that she wouldn't be required to teach any classes since she had her job at the newspaper. Dr. Dekker had arranged for that too. To receive funding for their classes, most graduate students in the English department were required to teach one composition class per semester; happily an exception was made for her because of her other work. Her "oddness" probably also had something to do with the exemption, but Sookie certainly hadn't complained.

Bill had come into her life as a knight in shining armor. Sookie had been walking from the university to her apartment after a late seminar when two men, both of whom had knives, had come out of the darkness. They had demanded her backpack, which Sookie had immediately handed over, but their whispering lips had told her that their demands would not end there, so she'd run from them. They'd caught her easily, and one of them had tackled her onto the grass. In the next moment, she'd heard a scuffle near her and had looked up to see Bill fighting with one of the men. He'd already received a cut on the arm for his efforts.

Luckily, the noise of the fight had alerted the people in the house they were in front of, and Sookie's two attackers were pulled off of Bill and then ran away. Immediately, Bill had seemed more concerned about Sookie than about his own injury. He had helped her to get up and had sat with her as the police questioned her, refusing to go to the hospital to get stitched up until she could go with him to get checked out since she'd suffered a big bump on her head and some bruised ribs when she had been pushed to the ground.

When Sookie "read" from the officers' lips that a rape had occurred in the area just a few hours before and that the suspects matched the descriptions of the men who had attacked her, she was even more frightened and more grateful for the kind stranger's support. From the beginning, Bill was extremely sympathetic and gentle, hardly touching her, but staying close. He even volunteered to stay on her couch while she slept since her attackers hadn't been caught. It had been one of the nicest things that anyone had ever done for her. Looking back, she realized that she had trusted him too quickly, but—given her inexperience and the situation—it had been impossible for her to do otherwise.

A graduate student in computer science, Bill had asked Sookie out for her first date the week after she'd been attacked, and soon after that, they had fallen into a routine with each other. Incredibly busy with graduate school, Bill could spend only two evenings a week with her. And since that was about all she was ready for anyway, it had been perfect.

They would spend their evenings together at her apartment since he said he had roommates. He would bring over a movie and she would cook something for him, or they would order pizza. For several weeks, all he did was kiss her on the cheek as he was arriving and then again as he left for the night. Then one night, he asked if he could kiss her on the lips. Even that kiss, however, had been chaste.

Bill's patience had continued much longer than other men's might have. And she began to reveal certain things about herself to him, even as they slowly became more intimate with each other physically. She told him about her childhood deafness. She also told him about her ability to read lips. She told him about being bullied by kids in her school because of what they perceived as a "handicap." She told him about how she still had a hard time fitting in.

In turn, he assured her that he was happy just being with her—that they didn't need to have others around them. He even drove her to Bon Temps several times during her summer break from school so that she could visit Gran. And—because of Bill—things with her mother had been tolerable too. Not long after their first trip to Bon Temps, she'd given her virginity to him, and the two evenings a week that they spent together turned into two evenings and two nights, as he would sleep over.

Through talking to Claudine, Sookie had begun to understand that she'd fallen in love with Bill not out of some romantic notion, but because of his patience with her and because he'd been so protective after her attack. Plus, he'd been the first man to show her any real interest. Finding out why Bill had been so patient and protective and interested had shattered the trust she'd been able to put into another, which had left her in the extra fragile state she'd been in the year before.

And—of course—that had also caused the "shields" that she tended to put around herself to be thickened. The year before, Eric had somehow rattled those shields—even though she didn't even interact with him. Then Amelia had knocked on them. And then—by seeing Claudine—Sookie had started to try to pry them open from the inside before Eric had effectively burst through her shields with a single kiss in January.

Then the next day, he had put those shields back up with another kiss; however, he'd somehow left her with the key to them so that she could open herself up more to others. She still didn't know how he'd done that, but he had. And she was pleased with herself for taking advantage of that key.

Of course, the negative voice of her mother was still present in her head at times, but Michelle Stackhouse was slowly leaving Sookie's day-to-day existence. And Bill's betrayal was also moving from her everyday thoughts.

So at a pace that would seem painstaking to most but was the only one Sookie could make progress at, the "odd girl" was making baby steps out into the world.


	16. Different Rooms

Chapter 16: Different Rooms

"Art opens the closets, airs out the cellars and attics. It brings healing." –Julia Cameron

June 3, 2012

The first Sunday in June was bright, sunny, and warm. May had brought with it four Sundays of spring rain, though it had warmed slightly with each one.

Eric was glad to be outside without any kind of coat or over-shirt on. He stopped by the usual sandwich shop and picked up his usual order. And—as usual—Ben had called it in that morning. Eric had, in the last four and a half months, become "friends" of sorts with all the usual guards that manned the control room on Sundays at the MET. The people on that shift stayed more-less consistent.

Eric had learned that Ben liked consistency, and there was little turn-over within his main crew—which consisted of those in the control room, the guards at the front entrance, and the shift leaders for the other guards that roamed the museum. Ben's main crew of twenty people worked Sundays as well as the earlier shifts on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The only ones that really changed on Ben's crew were the fifty-three "foot guards" that were in constant patrol around the huge museum; Eric had become familiar with some of them too as the months had progressed. However, he liked the close-knit little group in the control room the best, and—by extension—Milos and Jack, who would rotate in and out of that room as the guards took turns eating their lunches.

Ever since that first Sunday when he'd followed Sookie into the MET, he'd returned each week that he could, missing just two so far. He'd been absent those Sundays only because he'd been overseas on NP business. Those weeks had left him so discombobulated that he'd rearranged several out-of-town meetings since then so that he could be back on Sundays.

Eric always got to the museum at around 12:30, and after a few weeks, he'd started to bring lunch for the others on what Tony now called "Sookie Watch." Eric's unerring accuracy about Sookie's choice for her lone picture had gotten him banned from the "official betting pool" after three weeks. However, Doris insisted that he tell them his pick each week.

He'd missed on his guess only twice—two weeks that Doris happened to win. Her only response to him had been an "Uh-huh."

Other than Ben, Eric had appreciated Doris the most out of the crew after that. Other people had won the pool on various weeks, though about half of the time, the prize carried over—especially when Sookie visited a gallery with a lot of pieces in it. Eric could tell that the others won only through lucky guesses, but Doris seemed to understand something about Sookie that most didn't. The shift leaders and quite a few of the more regular roving guards on the Sunday shift also participated in the pool, especially when Sookie was in a larger gallery or the money had been carried over for several weeks; however, Eric really didn't see them much since they generally made their guesses before he arrived. Of course, the "core group" of Ben's crew always got the first picks.

Eric's own Sunday routine put him at the gallery for around five hours each week. He would arrive with the lunch and then watch Sookie finish up her perusal of that day's gallery before she went to "their" gallery, number 823. There she would sit on the bench Eric had had put in for her. Of course, no one on the Sunday crew knew for sure that the new furniture had been made possible because of a donation from him. However, Ben had given Eric a knowing look the Sunday after the bench had been placed right in front of Wheat Field with Cypresses.

Ben Anderson had always been perceptive. Maria, his wife of thirty-eight years, certainly appreciated the fact that he knew when he needed to bring home flowers and when he needed to bring home her favorite bottle of wine. He could always pick up her mood from her tone; hell—he made a point of picking up her mood from her tone. He was not a fan of being the one "in trouble," after all.

His ability to see things that others didn't was what made Ben really good at his job. God knows—he didn't look like he should be the head of security at one of the foremost museums in the world. He was only 5'8", and—though he jogged—he'd never been one to work out with weights. In short, his physical appearance wasn't enough to intimidate anyone. But he'd worked his way up the ranks in security, nonetheless, mostly because his attention to detail was unmatched.

And he certainly knew the difference between a coincidence and a gift, and the bench that had mysteriously made its way into Gallery 823 less than a week after he met Eric Northman was no coincidence. However, he'd still not quite figured out the man who had given a piece of furniture—in a public museum—as a love letter to a woman. All he knew for certain was that Eric didn't mean Sookie any harm and that he was—for lack of a better word—"hurting." Yes—the young man was hurting from the inside out.

However, it was clear that Eric loved Sookie Stackhouse—even if he never approached her. From what Ben had gathered, Eric hadn't known the girl for long, but he seemed to know her "well" nonetheless.

For his part, Ben didn't doubt the power—or the immediacy—of love. His Maria had him happily tethered to her after about a minute of conversation, and Ben had never had reason to doubt his love for her; even after almost forty years, she still took his breath away when she didn't mean to. It wasn't even that he loved her any more or any less than he had the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. It was just that he "knew" her better. He "liked" her better. The "love" part had simply remained the same—a constant in his life. The constant in his life. Ben had worked at the MET even longer than he'd known Maria. He'd seen a lot of art, but he knew that his wife was the true masterpiece.

Ben could recognize the same thing in Eric that had happened to him. At almost sixty years old, he had witnessed many kinds of love. He'd seen the kind that came on slowly. And he'd experienced firsthand the kind that came on like it had been propelled by a rocket. It was that kind that Eric was dealing with, but the young man was also clearly in denial, clearly keeping himself away from the object of his desire for some reason that Ben couldn't quite fathom.

The head of security sighed quietly as he saw Sookie take a seat on Eric's "love letter." He'd seen the light in her eyes when she'd first seen the bench, so obviously it had been the perfect token of affection. Ben figured that the bench was something impersonal enough not to frighten the clearly skittish girl. But it was also a strangely intimate gesture. Ben could tell that the painting it sat in front of was very meaningful to both Sookie and Eric; however, that meaning remained an enigma to Ben, just like the two people themselves.

Even if he never figured them out, however, Ben hoped that they could figure each other out.

In the last months, Ben had grown extremely fond of Eric Northman. He was generous in more ways than just buying them all lunch each Sunday. Several times, he'd asked Ben about the budget cuts at the museum. Almost invariably after their conversations, something happened to temper the deficiencies that Ben had spoken to Eric about. Ben was almost certain that Eric was the source of the improvements that were being made. However, nothing the young man had done had been showy, and he'd certainly not talked or bragged about any actions he'd taken.

While Eric's father, Appius Northman, donated a lot more money, Ben had come to learn that it was always in exchange for something—his name on a whole damned wing of the museum, recognition being given by the Press, or just to outdo another giver. Hell—the Matisse show that had ended a couple of months before had been called the "Appius Northman Matisse Collection."

Eric was obviously different from his father. And—when the young man was unguarded as he lost himself in his observations of Sookie Stackhouse—Ben could sense that there was something sad and deeply broken in him. At those times, every paternal instinct in Ben called out for him to help the young man.

About a month after Eric's visits had started, Ben had asked Eric why he'd not approached Sookie after the first week. Eric's five-word answer had told Ben a lot about the young man. He'd whispered the words: "I do not deserve her."

Ben could only hazard guesses about why the generous, kind young man didn't feel he deserved to approach Sookie. Eric Northman was rich and successful. And—as far as Ben's sharp senses could tell—he was a good man, an honorable man. Yet something big was obviously holding him back.

And Eric was certainly a sought-after young man. Doris would often bring in Page 6 of the Post and would share the latest pictures of Eric and Isabel Edgington with the crew on the days that Eric and Sookie were not there. Invariably—speculations had been made about why Eric came to the MET on Sundays.

Doris's guess was the one that most people—including Ben—believed: that Sookie and Eric were some kind of Romeo and Juliet story, kept apart by their families or because of the differences in their social class. Ben certainly hoped that they didn't end up like that Shakespearean couple.

Intellectually, Ben knew that he should have put a stop to Eric's basically spying on Sookie on Sundays, but he couldn't—not after having witnessed the moment between them in Gallery 111. Ben couldn't hear what they'd said to each other, but it was obvious that there was something special between them—clear even through the black and white video feed.

Plus, Eric generally didn't watch Sookie for long. He—like her—always followed a routine, coming to the MET a little before the time that he knew Sookie would visit Gallery 823. After she left that room to get her lunch, Eric would proceed to the gallery she'd visited that morning. There, he would get lost in his own perusal of the art for a couple of hours—until Ben would call him to let him know that Sookie was on her way back.

Many times, Ben had thought about not calling him; he'd thought about just letting Sookie find Eric in the gallery. Ben wanted to give them a nudge so that they could be together. However, his impeccable instincts told him that Eric and Sookie were not be ready for that nudge. Plus, he didn't want to break Eric's trust. He had a feeling that the young man didn't give it easily, and he wanted to keep it.

After looking through the gallery Sookie had gone to until she returned from her lunch, Eric would always text Doris with his guess for Sookie's favorite piece of the day, and then he would go to Gallery 823 and sit on the same bench Sookie had sat on earlier. After she left the MET for the day, Ben would text him, and Eric would walk down to the control room to find out what she'd chosen, and—against all odds or logic—he was right most of the time.

Doris called the whole thing "romantic." However, Ben thought it was rather tragic. The thought of two obviously lonely and good individuals moving in and out of the galleries in such a way that they were never together in the same room hurt his heart—a little more each week.

However, at the same time, he understood something fundamental. His museum—and, yes, he thought of it as his—could heal people. Over the years, he'd seen the power that the art could have on people. He'd seen people break down into tears in front of certain pieces. He'd seen parents hug their children tighter. He'd seen couples embracing as they found some truth in a piece of art. Such revelatory moments didn't happen often, but when he saw one, it always made Ben's heart leap. Ben had realized that the kind of healing that the museum was doing for Sookie and Eric was subtle, but no less powerful for its cunning.

They simply needed time. And the museum was nothing if not a vessel of time.

Ben sighed as he looked at the young man looking at the young woman through the video feed. He was not going to interfere with their healing, even though part of him did want to push the two lonely souls together.


	17. Conversation Piece

Chapter 17: Conversation Piece

Eric strolled around Gallery 758. It was a relatively small room in the American wing of the MET. There were only sixteen pieces, most of them large paintings, and Sookie had left the museum only ten minutes before to get her lunch. Since it was such a nice day, he knew that she would take her time enjoying the park. Thus, there would be no rush trying to look at all the pieces before choosing one. After he made his first sweep of the room, his mind wandered back to what he had learned about Sookie and himself during the previous few months.

After his first Sunday at the MET, Eric hadn't made any direct contact with her; mainly, that was because he didn't want to ruin the trips to the MET for her. He intuited that they were somehow sacred to her, just as they had become to him.

He only allowed himself to watch her for a short time each Sunday—though he wanted to get lost in her for hours. But he felt like he was intruding—stealing away her privacy—if he watched for too long, so he granted himself the luxury of only a few minutes, usually during the time that she was in "their" gallery.

He sighed. Even in the imperfect video feed, Sookie was beautiful, and every week, he was both stirred and comforted when he saw her. But she was not quite the same girl he'd met in January. From week to week, the changes were subtle, but part of him—a part that was deep inside—recognized and celebrated every nuanced transformation right along with her. Sookie stood a little taller, a little more confidently, than she had in January. In March, she had started to interact with people with whom she came into contact in Gallery 823, sometimes having short conversations with them or sometimes just sharing brief nods or smiles with them. Most significantly, her smile when she interacted with the gallery's visitors had transformed from forced and nervous to soft and automatic.

Unable to stop himself, he had mentioned "Susanna Stackhouse" to Pam a couple of times over the months—offhandedly, of course. His sister had reported that the "odd" employee had begun to fit in better. Pam reported that—despite still "staring" at times—"Susanna" had started saying hello "like a human." Pam was grateful that the "normal employees" no longer seemed to be all that bothered by "Susanna" since she'd been moved to a different workspace. Pam was happy that she no longer had "to think about the troublesome girl." After that conversation, Eric couldn't safely ask Pam about Sookie without making her suspicious about why he was raising the topic. However, at least, he got the impression that her job was no longer threatened.

Eric had found out a little more about Sookie by checking the résumé NP had on file for her. She had graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA, receiving bachelor's degrees in both English and Journalism. She'd followed that up immediately with a master's degree in English, also from the University of Mississippi—Ole Miss. In fact, she'd been hired by Sam Merlotte before she'd even finished her M.A., which had been earned in June of 2011, five months after she started at NP. A note in her employee file had been written by Sam Merlotte in July 2011 indicating that Sookie had received a small raise based on earning her higher degree.

All of Sookie's reference letters in the file were short. Every letter spoke of "Susanna Stackhouse's" precision in editing the school newspaper at Ole Miss. None of them spoke of her beyond her work or her work ethic, though the letters hinted that she had been thought of as peculiar by her college professors too. One of the recommenders had indicated that "Susanna" had a "unique way of seeing the world"; another said that she was "singular in her work habits"; the third reported that she worked "best on her own, but could be counted on to do precise work." There was another note in Sookie's file from Sam Merlotte, indicating that he'd heard a stellar verbal recommendation for "Susan Stackhouse" from a professor named Horace Dekker, with whom Sam had also studied. Sam's note indicated that Dr. Dekker had been killed in an accident before he'd been able to send an official recommendation letter; however, after being offered a job during a phone interview with Sam, Sookie had arranged for the requisite three letters of recommendation to be sent by other professors.

After perusing the file and seeing nothing that would have made Sookie stand out above other potential job candidates, Eric concluded that Sam had offered Sookie a job solely on his mentor's recommendation—or, perhaps, because Dr. Dekker had just been killed. Likely, Merlotte had thought of his giving Sookie employment as one last gesture to honor his old professor.

Also in Sookie's file were two formal complaints from a woman named Arlene Fowler in the copy editing department. The complaints accused Sookie of creating "an uncomfortable working environment" for the other employees in the department and cited Sookie's "abnormal staring habit." Sam had written follow-ups to the complaints indicating that he'd spoken to Sookie about trying to adapt her "interpersonal behavior" and to Arlene Fowler about "respecting individual's differences." Merlotte's letters had defended Sookie—at least to a certain extent—and the second of them indicated that he'd moved her workspace "to benefit the work atmosphere of all." Also in the file were Sookie's stellar work records for each quarter she'd been at NP. Not surprisingly, she ranked as the top copy editor at NP, both in accuracy and speed—though her speed had diminished a little in the past quarter.

Eric had learned more about Sookie through Bobby and then—later—through Alcide Herveaux, who still kept an eye on her during the weekends.

Admittedly, Eric had had a momentary doubt about Sookie's innocence regarding the de Castro situation when Bobby had informed him that she lived in a house with Amelia Broadway, the daughter of Copley Carmichael. Copley had always been thought of as a ruthless, though honorable, businessman. He had also been a close personal friend to Appius for many years; however, it seemed that Copley had changed a lot because of the prolonged illness and death of his wife. Bobby had found out that Copley had all but retired, leaving his son, Paul, in charge of his real estate empire. Eric remembered the incident at the NP party three Januaries before when Nora had humiliated herself and upset the widower. Bobby's digging around uncovered that Copley was currently living in the Hamptons and—although he was clearly no longer as close to Appius as he'd been before—he wasn't his enemy either. Thus, in the end, Eric couldn't imagine that Copley would be petty enough to join forces with de Castro to hurt Appius and Northman Publishing.

Although Bobby couldn't find the proper paperwork filed with the borough of Brooklyn, it seemed that Amelia rented a room in her home to Sookie. Amelia was—by all accounts—something of an eccentric and ran some kind of a "New Age" shop in Greenwich Village. She had changed her last name to Broadway, her mother's maiden name, when she'd had a falling out with Copley; however, according to Bobby's information—much of which was gleaned from Claudine—daughter and father had reconciled shortly before the death of Mrs. Carmichael. Bobby had found no connection between any of the Carmichael family and de Castro or Madden.

After receiving confirmation that Sookie was not associated with de Castro through the powerful Carmichael family, Eric had found solace in the fact that Sookie lived with Amelia Broadway. Amelia's house was in one of the safest parts of Brooklyn Heights. Purchased for Amelia by Copley, the home consisted of the first floor of a large brownstone which had been renovated in the 1990s.

However, Eric was not happy about the fact that Sookie was so often alone in the house at night. According to Alcide—who confirmed Bobby's previous report—Sookie's roommate hardly ever spent Fridays or Saturdays at home, leaving Sookie completely alone for almost 70 hours straight each weekend.

For some reason, the thought of her being alone—even in a good neighborhood and with Alcide keeping an eye on her—made Eric nervous. In fact, he never felt completely relaxed until he saw her at the MET on Sundays.

Beyond Sookie's Sunday trips to the MET, Alcide had confirmed that her weekend routine was just as "boring" as Bobby had originally outlined. Sookie didn't have much of a social life to speak of. As expected, she was a creature of habit—at least mostly. On Saturday mornings, she went to a grocery store in her neighborhood—always the same one. There, she would buy a week's worth of food. She transported her items in reusable bags, using a little pull trolley. Going to the public library was always on Sookie's Saturday afternoon agenda. Come rain or shine, she walked a few blocks more to go to the library in Carroll Gardens since the one in Brooklyn Heights wasn't as good. According to Alcide, Sookie always had a full backpack of books to return, and she always left with her backpack just as full.

In the months that Alcide had been keeping tabs on Sookie, she'd been "out" three times on the days he was assigned to watch her. The first had been to a nightclub with Amelia and Claudine Crane. The second and third had been "dates" with a man named Preston Pardloe.

Alcide's first mention of Pardloe had been in his April 1 report; Eric had thought—hoped—that it was a goddamned April Fool's prank. But it hadn't been. The day before, March 31, Sookie and a man that Alcide had never seen her with before had had a two hour lunch at a café near Sookie's house. She had walked there to meet him, and he had walked her home. The "date" had ended with the man kissing her cheek.

Immediately after reading Alcide's report, which Eric had received on a Sunday night—after a particularly good day at the MET—he had called Bobby, asking him to find out who the hell the man was and then to investigate him. Thankfully, Pardloe had paid at the café with a credit card, so his name had been easy for Bobby to find out. Within two days, Bobby had a complete report for Eric.

Preston Pardloe worked in the Midtown office of Morgan Stanley and rented an apartment in the East Village. He'd gone to college at NYU and worked as a mid-level financial advisor. He had no arrest record. In fact, he'd never even gotten a traffic violation. He seemed perfectly innocuous—a good guy for Sookie to date.

Eric had despised him from the first moment he saw Alcide's report.

Though Eric knew that he had no right to be jealous, he had been. Very.

Sookie and Pardloe's second date had been to dinner—to a restaurant near Sookie's home called Jack the Horse Tavern; Pardloe had picked her up in a taxi. Alcide followed them to the eatery, but stayed outside. From there, he called Eric, who had told Alcide to inform him immediately if Sookie went out with any man again.

Two hours later, the date had ended somewhat abruptly. Pardloe hailed a cab; Alcide, having a car of his own, followed the couple back to Sookie's house, where Sookie got out of the taxi without any signs of affection occurring between them. After that second "date," there seemed to be no further interaction between Sookie and Pardloe. As ashamed as Eric was of himself and as selfish as he felt, he was still glad Pardloe hadn't lasted longer than those two dates.

Eric was well aware of the fact that he had no right to think that way. Hell—he had been fucking Isabel on the night of Sookie's second date, which had been on April 14.

That night, Eric had called Isabel as soon as he'd learned from Alcide that Pardloe had taken out Sookie again. The thought of her being with anyone else had rattled Eric so badly that he had used Isabel to try to un-rattle himself. Immediately, after doing that, he felt empty and even more distressed than he'd been before. He felt guilty.

The next day, he'd met with Isabel and had called things off with her—at least sexually. He'd not had sex with anyone since then either—the longest period he'd gone without fucking since his last semester of graduate school when he'd been swamped with schoolwork.

But that "dry spell" had been necessitated by his being busy. Now, he just couldn't bring himself to fuck anyone; truth be told, he couldn't even bring himself to think about touching any woman—other than Sookie.

But that was impossible.

Eric sighed. When he thought about Sookie's solitary life, he couldn't help but to wonder if it was more or less lonely than the life he led. On the surface, his life seemed lively enough. He went out two or three nights a month—going to high-profile parties or charity events. The parties were the "right" events for someone of his "standing in society" to attend. And the people at them were the "right" people—appropriate "friends" for him to have.

However, the people who surrounded him at the events were not his friends; they were acquaintances and business associates. Only if Pam attended—or if he took Isabel—would he have someone there with whom he enjoyed spending time. However, because most of the functions he attended were dictated by his grandmother Grace, Eric was well aware that he was expected to comport himself in a certain way at them. Plus, he was always given an "agenda" for the evening by his grandmother and/or his father. There were usually people with whom he was commanded to speak. Or there were people with whom he was to be seen and photographed. Other times, there were business deals that he was required to broach with people who were more easily coaxed in a social setting.

Not surprisingly, the events that made up his "social life" felt like a chore to Eric. He used to comfort himself with the fact that the parties were often a prelude to his fucking whatever socialite or starlet he'd taken to them. But—if he was honest with himself—that part of the night, too, had always felt like a chore, something he needed to do to try to feel some kind of pleasure.

Thus, Eric had been pleased when Isabel Edgington returned from Paris in February. The European version of Vibrant had been launched and was running smoothly, so she'd come home to Manhattan. And they had picked up their casual relationship right where it had left off. They accompanied each other to social functions, and, after them, they alleviated each other's sexual tension. They had been the very definition of "friends with benefits."

Certainly, Eric had appreciated the no-strings companionship he had with Isabel more than ever, especially after the debacle with Freyda de Castro. He admired the work that Isabel did greatly, and Russell Edgington was Eric's favorite person among his father's generation. Russell seemed to exist in high society with his sense of humor and his humility intact, extremely rare things among the upper crust of New York society.

Indeed, having Isabel on his arm for events had made them much more palatable for Eric. And the sex had been good, so they had kept having it. It had been just what he thought he needed at the time: physically pleasurable, but emotionally distant fucking. However, even from the first, Eric could tell that Isabel's heart had been in the physical exchange about as much as his had been—not at all. Plus, after that night in April when Eric had literally used Isabel to alleviate his jealously over Sookie having an innocent date, he couldn't in good conscience continue with that part of his and Isabel's "arrangement."

Using Isabel had felt like a betrayal to everyone involved: Isabel, himself, and especially Sookie.

As it turned out, Isabel had been using Eric too. She had been fucking him to try to get over someone else—a fact that had made Eric feel slightly better. She had fallen in love with a married man in Paris—Hugo, who was an artist that she hadn't known was married until she saw him with his wife and two kids one day.

Luckily, after Eric had talked to Isabel about stopping their physical relationship—at least for the time-being—their friendship had actually flourished. In fact, Isabel was the only person—other than Bobby—to whom Eric had told anything about Sookie, though he'd not mentioned her by name. He'd simply told Isabel that he'd met a woman who fascinated him like no other. He'd also told her that Appius would be against the match, so he was not going to pursue the woman.

Eric had appreciated Isabel's candor about the situation. She hadn't tried to give him empty platitudes about "following his heart" or "true love conquering all"; she had perceived enough about his relationship with Appius to know better than that. Isabel was one of only two people who knew that Eric had to get married to a "certain kind of woman" on or before his thirty-fifth birthday if he wanted to become CEO at Northman Publishing. She also knew that Appius considered Eric to be a "place-holder" until Appius Jr. was old enough to take over the company. Eric had told her that these stipulations were part of a contract between him and Appius. However, he hadn't given her any details beyond that.

Even after they'd halted the "with benefits" part of their friendship, Eric and Isabel had continued to go to events together since neither one of them wanted to pursue other relationships—sexual or otherwise—with anyone else at the moment. An added bonus of his still "dating" Isabel was that Appius had backed off about Freyda, whom he had still been advocating even after he'd learned of Felipe's spies. Plus, Isabel was certainly the kind of girl who would meet the "standard" that Appius had set for Eric's wife in their contract. After all, if Eric married Isabel, it would unite two powerful New York families, and Russell had no other heir, so Isabel would be the one to take over Vibrant—and all of Russell's other holdings—when her father stepped down.

Indeed, Appius had even offered his "approval" of the match via email when Isabel got back to Manhattan. And—in truth—Eric and Isabel had discussed getting married several times, even after they'd stopped having sex. They both knew that they were a good match in many ways, and they were both very practical people. In fact, they had already reached a tentative arrangement. Unless Isabel was able to find a "love match" before then, she'd agreed to marry Eric on the eve of his thirty-fifth birthday.

However, thinking about marriage like it was just another business matter had made Eric face an important truth about himself: for the most part, his life was empty. Of course he'd known that before; the "new" wrinkle was that this fact had begun to bother Eric—to "fester" in the same part of his soul that celebrated the changes he'd seen in Sookie.

He sighed deeply as he moved on to study another painting more closely. The disconnectedness that he'd cultivated with both others and even with himself had taken its toll—finally and irrevocably.

All around him, he saw people with whom he wanted to have real connections: Ben and the others at the MET, Pam, Gracie, Bobby, and especially Sookie.

Especially her.

He ached for that link down to the bone. But he was scared—terrified of what a connection with her would mean.

It would lead to loss—a loss that would gut him.

To make matters worse, the insomnia from which Eric had suffered throughout his life was more severe than ever before—though, this time, it was partially his own fault. Until he literally became too exhausted to function or to work, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep because when he did, Sookie was always in his dreams.

In some of the dreams, she was simply by his side, giving him a sense of connectedness that would be lost to him as soon as he woke up. Those dreams made his waking hours infinitely more difficult to bear.

In other dreams, he was searching for her, running through the halls of the MET, trying to locate her inside the labyrinth of galleries. Sometimes, he would find her sitting in their gallery, waiting for him, but he could never speak to her, and she would never turn around to see him there.

Other times, he wouldn't find Sookie in Gallery 823; he would find Appius there. His father would laugh at Eric's inability to find her. Then he would tear the Van Gogh painting from the wall and burn it as Eric was frozen in place. The wheat in the painting would blacken and turn to ash.

However, no matter which of the dreams he would have, Eric would always wake up feeling emptier than before.

Every week—by Sunday—he was literally aching to see Sookie. And it was becoming more and more difficult for him not to seek her out at work. Just knowing that they were in the same building had used to soothe him; now it made him restless. Many times, he'd found himself in the elevator, having pressed the button that would take him to her floor. After all, he could just say that he was there to see Pam. Hell—even he might believe the lie.

But he always resisted getting off of the elevator.

Since January, he'd seen her in person only twice—both times at staff meetings in the NP auditorium. However, he'd kept himself hidden from her, arriving at the last minute and stationing himself behind her against the back wall so that he could see only her golden hair.

Watching her through the cameras at the MET was better—safer. There he could maintain better control over his emotions. But, still, he ached.

The worst part was that he somehow knew—intuited with absolute certainty—that Sookie could fill the gnawing hole that had been growing in his chest since he was a child.

More every day, that hole refused to be denied—refused to be ignored.

But Eric wouldn't allow himself to seek comfort beyond seeing Sookie one day a week, even as he knew that continuing to see her like that was a kind of self-imposed torture. But he couldn't stop himself. Being where she'd been and seeing what she'd seen was a way for him to be with her—even if it was a fucked up way that could get him arrested for stalking.

Still, every Saturday night—even as he imposed long hours of sleeplessness onto himself—he tried to talk himself out of going to the MET. But he'd been unable to stay away. Just being near her—and knowing she was safe and content—bandaged him.

However—as long as he kept his distance from Sookie—Eric knew that his father would never know about her. And if Appius didn't know, then she couldn't become one of his tools to inflict pain upon Eric. She couldn't be taken from him. She wouldn't be hurt by him.

Eric knew that he didn't deserve Sookie. And she sure as hell didn't deserve the anguish that he would bring her.

So he stayed away.

However, Eric couldn't deny the changes that being close to her had forced him to undergo. She had made him study himself, and he'd not liked what he'd seen. He couldn't imagine going back to the way he had been before he'd met Sookie. He couldn't imagine picking up a casual fuck, a nameless addition to the long line of nameless women whom he'd had sex with in order to find momentary pleasure. Eric sighed. His only redeeming quality in all of those "relationships" was that he'd always made it clear to the women—before he would even touch them—that he was interested only in fucking them. After he'd laid his cards on the table, he'd let the women decide. Most of them said yes. A few of them said no. Sadly, it didn't matter much to Eric which answer they gave; they had been interchangeable with others.

But Eric hadn't even considered giving Sookie his usual "pre-sex talk" that night in Galley 823 before he'd kissed her for the first time. And after he'd tasted the sun that she offered to his dark life, there had been no way that he could have ever treated her like the other women he'd been with. He still wasn't sure what would have happened between them if she hadn't told him about de Castro and Madden conspiring against NP, but he knew that it would have changed his life even more than she had changed it already.

Before their first kiss, he'd been telling himself that he was just intrigued by the woman with the golden hair—that he was simply going to fuck her, get his fill of her, and then discard her like all the others.

Of course, he'd been lying to himself.

After their kiss, he'd been running only on pure instinct. He'd planned to get her out of the museum and then take her to his home where he'd never taken a woman before. After that, he wondered if he would have been able to let her go.

He closed his eyes tightly before moving on to study the next painting. It was better that he'd never gotten her to his home—never let her fully into his life. After all, she would have eventually been taken from him—in one way or another.

Yes. He was glad that Sookie had shocked him out of his stupor by speaking up about what she knew regarding de Castro and Madden. In the end, it had saved him from having to lose her.

More importantly, it had saved her—from him.

Still, when Eric came to a sudden halt in front of the painting that he knew Sookie would choose as her favorite, he couldn't help but to ask a question that had plagued him since he had first caught a glimpse of her golden hair: What if?

"What if?" he whispered into the gallery, though it was empty except for him.

The painting that had captured his focus was called Conversation Piece. It was by Lilly Martin Spencer, whom he had never heard of before that day.

Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him to the fact that Sookie was on her way back to the gallery. Just as he did every week, he thought about lingering; he thought about asking her if the painting he was looking at was—indeed—her choice for the day. He thought about telling her that it was his choice too. He thought about telling her why this particular painting touched him more than the others. He thought about asking her why it touched her.

"What if?" he asked himself again, even as he left the room to go into Gallery 759 so that he could slip away without her seeing him. Over the past several months, he had learned how to navigate the galleries of the MET very well, so he quickly worked his way around to Gallery 823, where he sat on the bench and stared at their painting for what felt like the millionth time. He knew every brushstroke. Every line. Every color.

"What if?" he mumbled as he looked at the golden field of wheat.

He closed his eyes. "What if?"

When Eric entered the control room of the museum a few minutes before 5:30, that two-word question was still in his mind.

What if?

Doris was squealing, signaling that she had won the betting pool for the day. Eric had known that someone would win since there were only 16 pieces in Gallery 758, and more than 16 people would want to bet; however, after Ben's core group, it was first come first serve each Sunday, and no one could pick the same piece as someone else.

Sookie had chosen Conversation Piece—as had Doris apparently. Everyone already knew that Eric had chosen the same item since Doris had texted him to find out his choice an hour before.

"What's your secret?" Tony asked Eric with frustration. "How do you always know what she's gonna pick?"

"I don't always know," Eric said, correcting the young guard.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You've known every time, except for—what—twice? So—how did you know that she'd pick the one she did today?"

Eric thought for a moment. The theme of Gallery 758 was "Life in America," and it held work from 1830 to 1860. Many of the paintings in the room depicted domestic scenes—snippets of life. The artists had been—as the description in the room indicated—trying to seize moments of "life" with paint.

Conversation Piece depicted a contented-looking husband and wife, admiring their child. Neither the wife nor the husband had exaggerated expressions as they took in their child; they simply looked "normal"—contented. The infant's face was hidden, but his or her hands reached upward. The man held a sprig of what looked to be cherries over the child's head to entice him or her. There was a discarded toy on the floor, but neither the mother nor the father was concerned about it. The scene was calm and the colors were warm.

The painting held a possibility—though a faint one. It held the question: "What if?"

"It shows a family," Eric said, having to struggle not to let his voice crack as he finally answered Tony's question.

"A family?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Doris said, looking straight at Eric as if she were seeing right into him. "A rich-ass couple that doesn't give a damn about anything—except the little baby smack-dab in the center of the picture."

Eric looked at the woman and nodded slightly. Doris did seem to understand a lot.

"What if?"—the question shot through his mind again.

He decided that—come what may—he had to answer that question. He had to answer it even if he destroyed what little sanity he had left in the process.

So—in the most selfish move he'd ever made in his life—Eric sent a text to Bobby.

He also sent a prayer to God, though he wasn't sure he believed in the deity. The prayer was only one word: "Please."


	18. A Moment of Art

Chapter 18: A Moment of Art

June 10, 2012

Sookie smiled to herself as she quickened her pace toward Gallery 823. In fact, for probably the first time in her life, she felt like skipping, but she refrained—likely because she wasn't quite sure how to skip. She forced herself not to giggle out loud at that idea, even as she let her moment of happiness envelop her without a fight—just as Claudine had been teaching her to do.

Through Claudine's guidance, Sookie had realized that she was often her own worst enemy when it came to feeling any kind of happiness. Indeed, Michelle's endless criticism of Sookie had trained her to feel as if she didn't deserve anything good in her life, so she had often resisted "the good" without knowing it; she had run from it without being able to help herself.

However, Claudine had helped her to see that there were many potentially good things waiting for her in the world. There were people ready to befriend her. There were wonderful things she could see and learn about. There were new places to visit.

The trick was to allow herself to experience the "good" without automatically—though unintentionally—disqualifying herself from it because of Michelle's "training." And Sookie was slowly learning to do just that; she wasn't always successful, but she was learning.

It had been a good week. But—more importantly—Sookie had been able to pause her active mind at times so that she could simply enjoy the experience of that week.

That Tuesday, she'd made a big step in her therapy. She'd told Claudine the whole story about Bill, including her niggling suspicions about the night they met. It had been an emotionally exhausting session for Sookie, but she'd felt the better for it. In fact, after she was done talking, she realized that the hurt she'd felt because of Bill's betrayal was gone. So was the love she'd once felt for him. And—in its place was not numbness, which was what she'd felt for so long after she'd learned of Bill's duplicity.

No. Sookie had discovered that she felt "okay" concerning Bill—not quite indifference, but not pain either. His duplicity had left a scar inside of her—to be sure—but it had healed, leaving behind only a phantom sting when she thought about it. Simply put, she felt like she had moved on from Bill and from what he'd done to her. She felt that her relationship with him was now something to learn from, not to be stifled by. And realizing these things had felt good—really good.

And the good hadn't stopped there.

The previous Wednesday had been Amelia's birthday, and Sookie had met up for dinner and drinks with her friend at the Blue Water Grill, a restaurant once featured on Sex and the City. The eatery was in Union Square, a section of the city that Sookie hadn't visited, and she'd found herself excited to see and experience the "new."

Claudine and Luna Merlotte had also been at the small birthday gathering. And Amelia had urged Sookie to bring Holly. The five women stayed at the restaurant for nearly six hours all told. The meal was wonderful, and Sookie tried several cocktails that she'd never had before. However, the best part of the meal—the part that Sookie would always remember—was the easy laughter between the women at the table.

They had discussed the funny habits of the men or—in the case of Amelia—the women that they had dated. Luna shared that Sam sang show tunes in the shower—including "I Feel Pretty" from West Side Story. Claudine talked about how her current boyfriend wore underwear with comic book characters on it. Amelia bemoaned the fact that she'd been forced to break up with the "best girlfriend she ever had" because she made "geese-like" sounds when they had sex. Holly then talked about how the father of her two children used to wear an exfoliating facial mask several times a week. Sookie even felt comfortable enough to add to the conversation. She told her friends how Bill ironed and starched everything he wore, including his socks and underwear. The laughter around the table was plentiful as the women tried to outdo each other with the ridiculous behaviors of their past or present partners.

Certainly, Sookie had been the shyest of the five women, but she hadn't felt left out. And she'd gone to bed that night with her mouth sore from all the smiling she'd done.

Friday night, Amelia had been sans date for the first time in a long time, and she and Sookie had gone out to see a move. It had been Sookie's first time going to the cinema.

Amelia had wanted to see what she called a "mindless action flick" in order to temporarily forget about her newest break-up, and Sookie was up for anything, so they'd decided upon a movie about an alien invasion called Battleship. They had giggled through some of the more ridiculous plot points, and both had agreed that the best part of the movie was "killed off" way too early when a hunky costar was sacrificed in order to create melodrama for the main male lead, who was pretty unlikeable—and not nearly as handsome. Regardless of the fact that Sookie and Amelia hadn't really cared for the movie, they'd had a fun time.

Sookie smiled a little wider. Also wonderful had been the gallery she'd visited that morning. The galleries didn't always fascinate her equally, though she'd found something she could appreciate in each one thus far. But she tended to enjoy it most when history and art wove together, and she'd learned a lot that morning.

She liked choosing the galleries at random. She'd drawn Gallery 301 out of her jar the night before, and it had been packed with ancient Roman and Byzantine pieces, including a lot of interesting jewelry. The gallery even had some items from the Viking culture, which she had been reading about thanks to one of her most recent acquisitions from the public library. Sookie had been especially drawn to all the unique brooches. She couldn't help but to appreciate the decorative functionality of the brooch.

So—yes—the week had been really "good," probably the best she'd ever had. And she couldn't wait to get to her and Eric's gallery where—in a strange way—she could cap it off by spending time "with" him. Or, at least, relive her memories with him. She sighed as she thought about the bench he'd gotten for her. It was the best gift she'd ever received.

When she got to Gallery 823, however, she stopped in her tracks.

The bench was not empty.

He was there.

She took a breath.

He was there.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again.

He was there.

He was sitting on the bench and looking at their painting. Part of her wanted to back out of the room and leave before he noticed her, but she'd been carefully tending to the flicker of confidence that had awoken in her, and now it was large enough for her to take a step toward him. Moreover, as always, her body seemed to have a mind of its own when she was near him.

She walked to him slowly—the gazelle approaching the lion. And she felt brave. Without a word, she sat on the bench next to him.

Although it was clear that he knew she'd joined him by the way his body tensed and then relaxed, neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"You read de Castro's and Madden's lips," Eric finally opened the conversation in a low voice, though his eyes stayed on the painting in front of them. With his peripheral vision, he saw her cringe a little.

He continued, "I imagined corporate espionage. In my most jealous moments, I imagined you had found out about Felipe because you were Quinn's lover. Hell—at once point—I even thought of ESP, but I never thought of lip-reading."

He turned slightly on the bench so that he was looking at her. Her breathing was now faster, betraying her anxiety. He found that he hated making her nervous. Slowly, he reached out and took her hand, keeping his grip light. She was taking steadying breaths now as her eyes stayed locked into his. He found himself taking them with her.

"Would you take a walk with me, Sookie?" he asked after a minute. "It's a nice day."

She nodded, her body answering before her mind could react.

Slowly—as if trying not to scare her off—Eric rose to his feet, but kept her hand in his—now more firmly. She rose with him, and then they walked out of their gallery together.

They boarded the same elevator they'd been in the January before. Neither of them spoke during the short ride down, both of them seeming to hold their breaths.

Eric matched Sookie's pace and then kept his eyes front and center as they passed the front guard station. Milos and Jack's reaction at seeing Eric leave with Sookie after so many months was anything but subtle. Luckily, Sookie seemed too preoccupied with the unexpected situation she found herself in to notice their gaping mouths.

"Hungry?" Eric asked, motioning toward a hotdog vendor at the foot of the MET's steps.

He looked down at her and noticed her nod again.

He squeezed her hand a little and walked them over to the hotdog truck.

"Mustard and sauerkraut," she said in a voice just above a whisper as they got closer to the front of the line.

"Brown mustard—I assume?"

"What else would I have with sauerkraut?" she asked. Coming from anyone else's lips, that statement might have seemed sarcastic or sassy. But from Sookie, it was simply a statement of fact.

Eric smiled, both at her words and the length of her sentence. Other than her warning him about de Castro and Victor, it was the longest sentence she'd ever said to him. "People say that you're odd, but I guess not," he said with a little smirk. "Brown mustard is the only logical choice."

She blushed a little but then gave him a smile in return.

"I like a Coke with mine," he said as the man in front of them was paying for his order.

"Me too," she responded.

Eric nodded and then ordered his own hotdog with brown mustard, chili, and dill relish, before ordering hers. Soon, they each had a hotdog and a can of soda occupying their hands as they walked into the park. Sookie led them to the bench she usually sat on, and they ate silently.

"I should have gotten two," Eric said with a little smile when they both finished. "But I didn't want you to think I was a pig."

"I don't," Sookie said, looking up at him sincerely.

"You should," he sighed. "I'm sorry about the way I treated you in January—in the elevator," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "You would be justified to think me an animal."

"You didn't hurt me," she said quickly.

His eyes seemed to be boring into hers as he tested the veracity of her statement. Satisfied, though still obviously regretful, he took their trash to the nearest wastebasket and then held out his hand for her. She took it and stood with him. The two began to walk slowly down one of Central Park's many trails, one leading past the Turtle Pond. The warm spring Sunday had brought out many New Yorkers and tourists.

"How did you find out—about what I can do?" she asked tentatively after a few minutes of silent walking.

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "Can we walk for a few more minutes more? I'm afraid that after you know, you will never want to see me again. And I want a few more minutes of this," he said as he squeezed her hand a little.

When she looked up at him, her blue eyes held a million questions, but she didn't ask any of the ones she wanted to. She didn't—because his eyes were imploring her not to.

"Are you an axe-murderer who's chosen me for your next victim?" she asked instead, her lips twitching into a little smile.

He chuckled. "No."

"Okay then."

He shifted the grip of his hand so that their fingers entwined and then led her over to a quiet bench near Belvedere Castle. There they sat for several more minutes, both of them watching their joined hands; their fingers were now moving in exploration. As the minutes passed, each of them got a little lost watching their fingers play and feeling the sparks they created together.

"You make me think so many things, Sookie," he finally stated quietly. "You make me ask so many questions."

"I think about you too," she confessed, as their eyes locked.

He took a deep breath. "After the NP party, I took the information you gave me to my father, but kept your name out of it."

"I figured as much. Thanks," she said.

"That Sunday after the party, I wasn't here because I was following you, though I did have you followed starting later that day."

Sookie gasped a little.

"Don't worry about your observational skills, Sookie. I warned the people I had following you that you were good at noticing things, and they stayed quite far back from you. Plus, both of them are good at being 'invisible' when they want to be."

"Why did you come to the museum that Sunday then?" she asked, ignoring—for the moment—the fact that he'd had her followed.

"Our painting," he said, his free hand running through his hair once more. "I wanted to see the gold in it."

"But I saw you in the other gallery—the Egyptian one."

"Gallery 111," he said. "The Magic Wand."

"You remember that?" she asked.

"I remember them all," he said, closing his eyes, afraid of the doubt which had flickered into hers. Their hands had stopped moving against one another's, but she hadn't yet broken the grip they had on each other. He took that as a good sign.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and faced the music of her uncertain gaze. "That Sunday—the first one for me—I followed you into the museum, but lost you. I used the Northman name to get the guards to help me spot you, and on the museum cameras, I watched you. And since then—almost every Sunday—I have continued to watch you—though, after that first week, I haven't let myself watch you for very long. Now, I just watch while you're in our gallery for the most part," he said contritely.

Eric had decided to make his own confessions without implicating Ben or the others. Mostly that was because he didn't want Sookie to know about the bets—at least not until he could gauge how she would react to them. He didn't want for her time at the MET to be tainted in any way.

"You've been stalking me?" she asked, removing her hand from his.

He looked down at his empty hand; her pulling away was what he had thought would happen once he told her. And, also just as he'd thought, he felt cold and empty without her touch.

"Yes. Yes I have been," he admitted. "For five hours a day on Sundays, I am at the MET to see you and to visit the galleries you visit. And yes. I had Bobby—the person I hire for things I need—follow you for three weeks, beginning that day we were in Gallery 111 together. And then after that, I arranged for another person—Alcide—to keep watch over you from Friday evening to Sunday morning."

"Why?"

"Which part?" Eric asked.

"Let's start with the reason your people have been following me," she answered after a moment of thinking.

He nodded. "At first, it was because of the de Castro thing. At least, that's what I told myself."

"And what didn't you tell yourself?"

"That I was intrigued by you? That I felt like a fish on a hook being pulled to you. That I wanted to make sure you stayed safe."

"Me?"

"Don't," he said, grabbing her hand again.

"Don't what?" she asked, not pulling away.

"Don't question yourself like that. You are beautiful. You are intelligent. You are unique. And one look into your eyes made me feel like everything bad in my world could be burned up by your gaze. So don't question yourself like that."

She bit her lip. "You don't know me."

"I feel like I do," he responded. "That's the strangest thing. From the first moment I saw you looking at me, I felt like I did know you. I didn't know about you, but I felt that I knew you all the same."

"Eric," she whispered.

He closed his eyes again—this time to enjoy the sound of his name on her lips. He savored it.

He didn't open them until he resumed speaking almost thirty seconds later. "Bobby followed you all the time for three weeks after the party. I found out where you lived and who you lived with. After I confirmed that Amelia Broadway's father was not in league with de Castro, I should have stopped having you followed. But I didn't. I wanted to know more."

"And what do you know?" she asked hesitantly.

He sighed. "You stay in most nights—except for Tuesdays when you visit a psychiatrist. You go to the grocery store and the library on Saturdays. You come to the MET on Sundays. Your employee report says that your productivity has gone down slightly since last January, but your numerical evaluations from Sam Merlotte have gone up."

"How did you know about my—uh—ability? The lip-reading?"

"Last week, I decided that I needed to answer a question about you—about us. But to do that, first I needed to know how you knew about de Castro." He paused. "I'm sorry, but I had to know the answer," he finished in a whisper.

"To what question?" she asked, her voice also barely audible.

"The most important one," he answered. "What if?"

"What if?" she repeated.

"Yes," he responded. "What if we could be happy—even if it was just for a little while?"

"You're not happy," she stated rather than asked.

"No," he answered simply. "I've never been happy—not that I remember, at least. Have you?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No—not really. I'm better now, and I have happy times, but I'm not really happy—not like I," she paused, "want to be."

He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them. When he did, she could have sworn that he was looking at her from the inside out.

"What ifI could make you happy, Sookie? Even if it was just for a little while—for as long as I could. What if I could be happy? Just for a little while?"

"A little while," she repeated.

"Yes—if only for a moment—a moment of art. Like the gallery last week—Gallery 758."

She smiled a little. "To capture an ordinary moment of life on canvas," she said, remembering the words she'd read in the description of the works in Gallery 758. She'd written those words down in her notebook and had looked at them often throughout the week.

"Yes," he agreed.

"So—you decided to answer the question."

He nodded. "Yes. And to do that, I had to know how you knew about de Castro," he said again, though this time his eyes also held an apology.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"I did—in January."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you then," she responded.

"Would you have told me if I had asked you last week?"

She nodded. "I think so."

He sighed. "Then I'm sorry I didn't."

"How did you find out?" she asked again.

Once more, he dragged his free hand through his hair. "I sent Bobby to the address you put on your résumé, a house in Bon Temps, Louisiana." He took a breath. "Bobby has a way of asking questions without people knowing that they are being asked," he explained. "And I told him to ask about you."

Eric felt Sookie's hand shaking a little and squeezed it comfortingly.

"No one was home at the address listed, but at the local bar, Bobby found a man named Jason Stackhouse, and he bought him some drinks." Eric sighed. "Jason volunteered a lot of information about you."

"My brother," Sookie whispered.

"Yes," Eric said with a sharp edge to his voice.

"He doesn't much care for me."

"No," Eric said simply.

"What did he tell Bobby?"

"That you were a 'retard,'" Eric said, quoting Jason Stackhouse.

She sighed and smiled ruefully. "He's called me that—and other things—my whole life. I guess that's what big brothers do," she lied. In actuality, she knew that Jason's behavior toward her was much worse than the norm.

"I am a big brother to five people, including Pam. And I wouldn't dare," he said, trying to add just a touch of levity to the serious moment—trying to make her eyes lose just a little bit of their sadness.

"I don't blame you," she smiled a little wider—a little more sincerely. "She is the 'dragon lady,' after all."

"Dragon lady?" Eric asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sookie nodded. "Yeah—the copy editors' nickname for her."

Eric chuckled. "Fitting. I'll have to start using that."

Sookie smiled again and they fell into silence for a moment.

"What else did your person tell you?" Sookie asked.

"Bobby," Eric said.

"Bobby," Sookie repeated. "What else did he learn?"

Eric exhaled loudly. "That Jason calls you Susan. That you spent over half of your life deaf." He paused, "And that your brother is a selfish asshole."

"Did Bobby speak to my mother?"

Eric nodded, an agitated look on his face. "After she had a few shots of rum in her, Michelle Stackhouse told Bobby that she had only one child that she acknowledged."

Sookie breathed in and out slowly. "I guess that's all she's ever really had," she said, her head lowering. "She didn't like it when I turned out," she paused, "different from other kids."

There was a moment of silence between them as he began caressing her palm with his thumb.

"Did Bobby talk to Gran?"

Eric shook his head. "Adele Stackhouse is currently in New Orleans visiting her other granddaughter, Hadley. Your cousin—right?"

Sookie nodded.

"She is in a hospital there," Eric reported.

"Does Bobby know what's wrong with her? The last thing Gran knew, Hadley was on drugs. I've only ever met her once—a long time ago. She was a couple of years older than me—if I remember right. Her mom and mine," she paused, "didn't get along. I think Hadley ran away from home when she was seventeen."

"Bobby didn't go to New Orleans," he responded. "But I will ask him to find out what's wrong with your cousin—if you want."

Sookie shook her head. "It's okay. I call Gran every Monday night; I'll ask her tomorrow. Or—she'll call me if she needs me before then."

Eric nodded.

"Why have you been watching me on Sundays?" she asked, going back to their earlier topic. "Why not just come up to me like you did that first week?"

"I was afraid," Eric admitted.

"Of what?"

"Feeling. I don't like feeling."


	19. A Little Broken

Chapter 19: A Little Broken

Sookie nodded in understanding. "Sometimes—no matter what you do—you can't stop yourself from feeling—even if it hurts. Or," she paused, "might hurt."

"No—you can't," Eric agreed almost imperceptibly.

"You said you know me? And not just about me? How?" Sookie asked.

"That first Sunday, you told me that you always choose just one piece in every gallery you visit—just one for your picture."

She nodded.

"After the first week, it didn't feel right to watch you exploring the galleries in the mornings. That time seemed like it should be private for you; it seemed," he paused, looking for the right word, "sacred."

"Church," she smiled a little. "Gran wanted me to find one out here, but I've never liked church."

Eric looked at her in question.

"Too many lips saying too many things that go against everything a church should be about," Sookie sighed. "Church was," she paused, "painful."

"And God?" Eric asked.

"He—or she—has pretty much left me alone for most of my life," Sookie shrugged.

Eric nodded. Faith was a hard thing to hold on to in his world too.

"Me too," Eric agreed. "But sometimes, I see something that makes me have hope that there is something out there—someone out there—who will let me meet my mother again one day."

He was looking right at her, his eyes piercing through her, but she couldn't look away.

"It's a nice thought," she responded quietly. "I'd like to see my father again."

The two were silent for a moment, but their eyes stayed locked.

He squeezed her hand a little. "I know you, Sookie Stackhouse. Somehow I know you," he added, his voice sounding a little awestruck.

"How can you say that?" she asked, finally able to pull her eyes from his. She looked down at their hands, which were still locked together, though now unmoving. She could barely see her hand wrapped up inside of his larger one, but she could feel every molecule of her skin as it tingled with the contact—the electricity—between them.

He took a deep breath. "I've come to the MET nineteen Sundays since we met, Sookie—even though you only knew I was here once. All but two of those times, I was able to pick the pieces that you took pictures of." He paused for another breath. "It doesn't matter how big the gallery is; I almost always know the piece as soon as I see it."

Sookie gasped in surprise as she once more became enraptured by Eric's eyes. They seemed to be absorbing all the blues and greens of the park as well as the light from the bright sun. They swirled with emotion—just like the sky in Van Gogh's painting.

"What about the two times you didn't?" she asked. It was the safer question—much safer than asking him about the seventeen he'd gotten right.

"Gallery 354 and Gallery 919," he said, recollecting the two immediately.

Hearing those two numbers, she couldn't help but to giggle a little. "I had no idea what to do with 919," she confessed.

He nodded and grinned back at her. "Me neither. I'll admit that the galleries with the more modern stuff haven't been my favorites, but there were only eleven pieces in 919." He chuckled. "You'd have thought that I could have at least guessed correctly." He shook his head. "After all, since I've been coming here on Sundays, that's been the gallery with the least number of things that we've visited. Still—I had no idea. It was the only time I picked completely at random."

Sookie nodded in response. "I picked at random too. It took me forever to decide!" she added, laughing lightly at the memory. Eric felt his own mouth turn upwards a little more at the sound.

"I'd just edited a book about Pablo Picasso—the week before I went into Gallery 919," Sookie said. "In it was a quote by Picasso, which said, 'Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot; others transform a yellow spot into the sun.'" She shook her head. "I really tried to figure out what Clyfford Still was trying to create in his paintings, but I just couldn't see it."

He squeezed her hand affectionately. "Me neither." He hesitated. "I almost picked the yellow one," he said, his focus shifting to her hair.

Sookie took a deep breath; it felt like it got caught somewhere in her throat. "But it wasn't Van Gogh's yellow?" she asked in a whisper.

"No," he responded, reaching up his free hand to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It was not."

She sighed and leaned a little into his touch before a wry smile formed on her lips. "I pick Untitled."

"Well—then I didn't get it wrong, after all," he said with a wry smile of his own. "I picked Untitled too."

They shared a little laugh. Six of the ten paintings by Clyfford Still in Gallery 919 had been labeled Untitled. The others had been titled by year.

"I picked the red one with the blue crack," Sookie said.

"And I picked the orange and brown one with the black crack," he smiled.

"You did?" she wrinkled her nose a little. "Why?"

"It wasn't," he paused and shrugged, "as big as the other ones."

She giggled. "You know—the one you picked was right next to the one I picked."

He nodded. "Both in the same corner."

Her face clouded for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She bit her lip a little. "What about Gallery 354?"

He didn't comment on the fact that she'd avoided his question. Instead, he answered hers. "Do you remember House Post?"

"There were several house posts," she said, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Wait! The one by the windows in the east part of the gallery? The one that looked like a 'Y'?"

He smiled. "Yeah. That's the one."

"From the Sentani village?" she remembered.

"Yeah. I liked how it was both a piece of art and something practical too." He grinned—almost boyishly. "A family used it to keep their house standing up."

"But made it beautiful as well," she added.

"Yes, beautiful," he said, squeezing her hand again.

She smiled. "I liked that one too."

Eric nodded. "My grandfather—my mother's father—would have liked it as well. He ran a publishing house—in Sweden—but he loved architecture too. I guess I inherited that interest from him."

"Are your grandparents why you have a little accent?" she asked, looking at his lips.

"Most people don't hear it," Eric said, a little self-consciously.

"I can see it more than I can hear it," she said softly, still focusing on his lips.

"What do you see?" he asked, his voice lower.

"It's the way your lips move when you say certain things—almost like they are fighting with your brain a little."

"Fighting?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's what people's lips tend to do when they are trying to avoid speaking with an accent."

He looked at her with wonder in his eyes. "It's most likely because of the cadence. Swedish has a different cadence than English."

"You speak it then?" she asked, looking back into his eyes.

"Some. I spent summers with my grandparents there. My morfar—grandfather—spoke Swedish to me. My mormor—grandmother—spoke mostly English."

Sookie smiled. "I did like the piece you picked—the house post. In fact, I thought about picking that one too," she said with some awe in her tone.

"But you picked the Yam Mask," he smirked.

"I liked the story behind it," she smiled. "Can you imagine having a person that you exchanged your biggest yam with every year—just to try to prove your manliness?" she giggled.

"No. But it was probably a better—a 'truer'—way of determining social clout than the things that determine it now," he chuckled.

"The size of a yam versus the size of a bank account?"

"Exactly!"

They smiled at each other for a while before turning their focus to the Turtle Pond; in the distance, three small children squealed with delight as they pointed to a cluster of turtles along the shoreline. The breeze had picked up a little, rustling the leaves of the park's lush trees and perfuming the air with the scent of wildflowers.

Both Eric and Sookie were filled with a contented ease that felt—for lack of a better word—"alien" to them. Neither of them was used to speaking so much—and certainly not so openly. And neither of them was used to feeling "close" to another. However, there could be no denying that the two were comfortable being with each other. Their bodies leaned instinctively close, Sookie's head tilted so that it was almost resting on Eric's broad shoulder.

Almost—but not quite.

"This is easy," Eric said quietly. "Talking to you is so easy," he added, his voice betraying his astonishment. "And it's hard."

Sookie looked up at him and nodded. She couldn't help but to agree.

She took a deep breath. "So—the other seventeen Sundays? You were always able to tell which piece I would pick?"

He nodded.

"How?"

Eric sighed. "The things you choose—they speak about who you are. Right?"

She nodded.

"They also speak about who I am."

"Who you are?" she asked.

"Yes."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Eric, how do you know what I'm going to pick?" she asked her question again, this time barely audibly.

"I don't."

She looked at him in confusion.

"I pick my own favorites," he said. "Well—not my 'favorites.' It's hard to explain."

"Try?" she requested—not demanding, just asking.

"I choose the ones that make me feel the most," he said after thinking for several seconds.

She smiled a little. "I like that. But I wonder what it means."

"Doris thinks we're star-crossed lovers," Eric said with a little smile.

"Doris?"

"One of the usual Sunday guards in the control room."

"Where you watch me?"

"Yes."

"They must think you're the odd one," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"They do. I'm lucky they haven't called the police. I'm lucky—for once—that I'm a Northman."

"For once? You don't like being one?"

"No," he answered simply. "I don't like being one."

"Eric?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"I don't like being watched when I don't know I'm being watched. It happened a lot when I—uh—couldn't hear. When I was younger."

"After Bobby told me what he learned in Bon Temps—I figured that might be the case," he said begging for her forgiveness with his eyes. "That's why I didn't watch today—not at all. I don't even know what gallery you went to. I just waited for you in ours."

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand.

He closed his eyes, thankful for the fact that she was still touching him—that she hadn't run from him. "You should run from me," he couldn't keep himself from saying. His instinct was to protect her, after all. And even if he could no longer stay away, maybe she could protect herself from him.

"Why?"

"People I care for," he paused, "they get hurt."

"Do you hurt them?"

He opened his eyes; they showed more pain than she thought a person could bear—more hurt than she'd even seen in her own eyes.

"Not intentionally," he responded.

She squeezed his hand again, comforting him. "Then there's no reason for me to run," she whispered.

He sighed deeply. There was no fear in her eyes. There was questioning, but there was also acceptance. And—for the first time Eric could remember—the hole inside of him didn't feel so very large. As selfish as he knew it made him, he was glad she'd not run from him.

"Can I watch you?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrow in question.

Her face pinkened a little. "Can I watch you choose in the—uh—gallery I went to today? Gallery 301? I want to know what you pick. I want to watch you pick it."

He smiled at her and stood up, their fingers entwining again. "I'd like that very much," he said.

Eric felt her eyes on him.

"You're distracting me," he said without turning around. They'd been back in the museum for two hours, but he was yet to get through all of Gallery 301, though he already had a pretty clear idea of what he was going to pick.

Still, there were a lot of pieces that he wanted to look at, and Sookie's presence was quite distracting, especially given the fact that a big part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until they were both senseless—just as he'd done the first night he met her. Her scent, now fueled by the sun, permeated the gallery, despite the fact that it was a long room; that scent infused him as well. And his dick was threatening to take complete control as he felt her eyes studying him—"learning" him. Those eyes inflamed him.

Strangely, he'd had an easier time controlling his more lustful urges earlier—when they'd been holding hands in the park. Perhaps that was because he'd been so scared of her reaction to his stalker-like behavior.

Or perhaps the few feet now between them literally screamed to be crossed.

Quickly.

And with the purpose of tasting her lips again.

January had been too long ago. And there was no denying that he'd been craving the taste of those lips—of the woman. Having Sookie close enough to stimulate all of his senses had only intensified that yearning, especially now that she'd not run from him.

"Sorry," she said half-coyly and half-apologetically. "I don't mean to distract you."

"I know," he smiled. "Don't you have more notes to write or something?"

"Nope. All done," she answered, a smile in her voice. "Just waiting for you."

"Then stop distracting me," he said with a fake growl.

He turned around to see her smiling. She was beautiful.

Very distracting.

"Go sit in the corner or something until I'm done," he said jokingly.

Immediately the smile disappeared from her face, and she stiffened. The air seemed to go out of the room. Eric quickly walked over to where Sookie was sitting and knelt before her, but he didn't touch her.

"I've said the wrong thing," he said softly, frightened by the haunted look he'd unwittingly put into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he added, his voice catching.

Sookie's eyes glanced nervously toward the nearest corner, and she began to shake a little.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Eric. I'm just broken," she said with a quiet whimper.

He wanted to tell her that she wasn't, but he recognized that something in her was broken—just as he knew that something inside of himself was broken. He wanted to promise to fix everything, but he knew that he could never keep that promise. He couldn't fix her any more than she could fix him. He just hoped that he might soothe her—at least for a little while.

Gently, he put his hand against her cheek and turned her head so that she was looking at him again. "Being a little broken makes you no less beautiful," he said softly. "It doesn't make you any less beautiful—to me," he clarified.

Her lip quivered as she was struck by the sincerity in his eyes.

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked, her tone betraying her disbelief—her bewilderment. Never in her life had she been told that before.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever met," he answered with passion in his voice.

They stayed as they were, her sitting on the bench and him on one knee before her. His hand lingered on her cheek, barely touching her skin. For several long moments, blue eyes met blue eyes. His churned with cerulean and teal. Hers were darker, and there was less green in them; they shone true blue and sapphire, and they searched his as if looking for the answers to hundreds of unspoken questions. Importantly, however, his stubborn gaze wouldn't let her eyes go. Thus, they couldn't retreat to the corner. She could only focus straight ahead, and her heart swelled with gratefulness at that fact.

Their silent moment was interrupted when a new group of people, a large family of tourists from the looks of them, entered the room. Quickly, Eric rose and then silently sat next to Sookie.

Inconspicuously, as was both of their practices, the two watched the family wander around the gallery. Only two of the group members seemed interested in the room; the others looked around restlessly, without seeing much. The family had obviously been in the museum for a long time, probably for most of the day. And they all had slightly glazed over looks in their eyes—as if their minds had been overloaded and could no longer process much information. Both Eric and Sookie had seen that look a lot in their months of visiting the MET.

There were several children in the group—all younger than teenagers from the looks of them. They milled around aimlessly and impatiently while two women in their late thirties or early forties laughed about some of the more showy jewelry in the room.

"I wanna see the Viking sword!" the youngest boy whined in a high-pitched voice after the group had been in the gallery for about five minutes. He looked to be about five or six years old. He also seemed to be in physical pain at having to wait for the women—probably his mother and aunt—to be ready to leave the room.

The child stomped around the room loudly, his long day of having to "appreciate" art obviously causing his temper tantrum. "I wanna see the Viking sword!" he repeated.

Eric watched as one of the men in the group went over and bent down before the child. The man and the child were across the long room from Eric and Sookie, so Eric couldn't hear what the man was saying to the child, but he could see their expressions from their profiles. The man's face remained even and composed, while the little boy's expression went from angry to pouty to finally calm. The boy gave the man a little nod, and the man ruffled the boy's long bangs as he rose. A few minutes later, the women had had their fill of examining the jewelry, and the family left the gallery.

"What did the man say?" Eric asked Sookie, knowing that she had "read" the boy and the man.

Sookie used to hate being forced to tell her mother what she'd "heard" from the lips of others, but she didn't hesitate in sharing the information with Eric.

"The father asked the boy if stomping around and throwing a fit had ever gotten him anything he wanted. The little boy said a reluctant 'no' before the man reminded him that his mom would probably be just as bored by swords and suits of armor as he was bored by jewelry. However, she was still going to go with them to see those things. He also reminded his son that they were going to get him the toy sword that they saw in the gift shop."

"Was the father threatening not to buy it—or to take it away—if the boy misbehaved?" Eric asked, his voice showing his captivation with both Sookie and story she was telling—the snapshot, the moment of life, that she was giving him of the family they'd seen.

"No," she said. "But you're right. Usually parents threaten misbehaving kids with punishment. This one was just reminding. He also reminded his son that his mother was going to be getting some jewelry in the gift shop. He said that by the end of the day, everyone will have seen what they want to see and will have gotten what they want from the shop. And then he reminded his son that they still planned to play with his sword together in the park after they left the museum, but that they had quite a few more galleries from their list to get to—including the ones in the armory that the little boy was excited about."

Sookie and Eric sat in silence for a while. At some point, without either of them noticing when, their hands had come together again.

"I was born in New York—at a hospital only a few blocks from here. My father lives less than a ten minute walk from here. I was about that little boy's age when my mother died." Eric took a deep breath. "After that, my father decided to send me to boarding school, but I was allowed to stay in his house for three weeks a year during my winter breaks." He paused as Sookie's eyes caught his. "My family has donated so much money to this museum that a wing is named after us—as you know—but the first time I walked into the MET wasn't until I was twenty-four, the first year my father told me to come to the Northman Publishing party—the January before I graduated from business school." He exhaled. "I've lived in New York for years. However, I have never seen any of the things that I saw in this room until today."

Sookie could see Eric's battered soul in his eyes as he continued. "And I'm not just talking about the art. I've never seen a father speak to a son like that."

Sookie nodded in understanding. "It was a nice family." She sighed, "Not all families are nice."

"No," Eric whispered. "They are not."

Sookie squeezed his hand, trying to wish the pain from his eyes. They'd turned steel blue and had lost a little bit of their life—their luster.

"I am lucky though," Eric said after a while. "I have Bobby and Pam and my other siblings. And Mormor." He sighed. "But I've never really," he paused, "talked to them. I can't."

"Do you still visit your mormor in Sweden?" she asked, somehow understanding that it was not the right time to ask him "why" he had a difficult time talking to people. Plus, she didn't really need to ask. A part of her already seemed to know.

Eric nodded. "Since I've been working at NP, I've always gone for at least a week in the summer. This year, I am taking two weeks."

"I have my Gran," Sookie said. "I flew to see her at Thanksgiving since the copy editing department was closed from Wednesday to Monday last year. I'd like to see her more often, but staying in Bon Temps longer than that isn't," she paused, "good for me."

Eric nodded. "This year—because of you—I'm planning to visit the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo as well as the Birka Museum in Stockholm. My mormor lives in Lidköping, which is about four hours from Oslo and just a bit further from Stockholm, so I'll take a couple of two-day trips."

She smiled and teased. "Will you see a Viking sword?"

He grinned back, happy that her smile had lifted his mood. He was certain that a single smile from her could lift the whole world from solemnity. "I hope so," he answered.

His body nudged forward—pulled to hers in a way he couldn't understand. His eyes moved to her lips, but he didn't finish bridging the distance to them.

Her eyes stayed on his, studying the way that he seemed to be struggling with something.

"Can I see your phone, Sookie?" he asked after a few moments.

She nodded and reached into her bag for it.

Eric quickly figured out how to turn on the camera. He stood up and walked to a display case near where they were sitting. It didn't take him long to find the piece that he was looking for—a beautifully crafted Viking artifact. It was only a piece of a brooch; most of the brooch—the showy part—had been lost over time. But the part that was left was much more detailed and well-preserved than the other Viking pieces in the exhibit. It was made of niello, silver, and gold and was from the 900s.

At over a thousand years old, the small fragment had stood the test of time. However, since the piece was incomplete, a "normal" person might overlook its beauty. But he wasn't "normal." And he wasn't with a "normal" girl, and in that moment he was more grateful for that fact than he'd ever been for anything in his whole life.

He snapped the picture and went back to sit next to her. The awestruck look on her face told him that he was right about his selection, but that wasn't the thing that he wanted to focus on. He wanted her to know why he'd picked the brooch fragment.

He handed her back her phone, and she stared at the picture.

"It may be broken," he said in an emotion-filled whisper. "But it is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

She looked into his eyes and knew that he was not talking about the brooch.


	20. Five Percent of a Life

Chapter 20: Five Percent of a Life

At 4:00 p.m., about an hour earlier than Sookie usually left the MET on Sundays, Eric and she walked out of the museum hand in hand.

Before they left, Eric had thought about introducing her to Ben and the others in his crew, but—not wanting to overwhelm her or to risk damaging her Sunday routine—he decided it would be best to wait. He wanted to be honest with her about everything—no matter how painful the topic—but he just couldn't tell her something that might make her stop going to the MET. Perhaps it was highhanded of him to keep her in the dark, but he couldn't bear the thought of taking away something she loved—even if inadvertently.

They arrived at the bottom of the steps of the enormous museum and stood there a little awkwardly, neither of them really knowing what to do.

He bit his bottom lip apprehensively.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and searching as she looked up at him.

He was gripped with fear and doubt. How could he hope to deserve the heart of someone as beautiful as the woman in front of him? How could he tell her that he was in physical pain at the prospect of relinquishing her hand and saying goodbye to her? How could he beg her to let him stay by her side until he was ripped away from it? How could he ask for her time when he had so little to offer in return? In fact, how could he ask for any of those things without sounding like the stalker she probably already thought he was?

"I was going to ask you if I could meet you here next Sunday," he said tentatively.

"You're not going to ask anymore?" she said dejectedly, her question sounding more like a statement.

"Wait," he said quickly, "that's not what I meant." Nervously, he ran one hand through his hair, even as he gently tightened the hold he had of her hand with his other. "I want to see you next Sunday," he assured. "But next Sunday is too long from now."

Her lips slowly turned upward into a beautiful smile. "It is?"

He took a deep, nervous breath. "Will you take a walk with me, Sookie?"

"Now? Again?"

He nodded in answer to both questions.

"Where to?"

"In the park for a while?"

"Okay."

He breathed a sigh of relief and loosened his hold of her hand, but just enough so that their fingers could once more entwine. Now that he was guaranteed more time with her, his heart rate eased and his shoulders relaxed.

The humidity had risen, but the air had cooled and there was a breeze; the late afternoon sun painted the light in Central Park a gentle bronze.

Knowing that it would be several hours before the sunlight began to wane, Eric took Sookie on a meandering walk along several trails that he liked, trying to stretch out the time he could share with her for as long as possible. He first walked them in the direction Cedar Hill, a part of the park that was a lush sloping meadow; there, quite a few people were reading and enjoying the afternoon sun on blankets.

After they crossed East Drive, Eric led them south for a while—before twisting their course through the Ramble. He'd read about a mugging taking place in that area of the park the week before; however, the Ramble was generally safe during the day, and he'd already seen several of the park's security personnel walking the trails. Still, Eric was a little more vigilant as they moved through what was thought of as one of the more dangerous parts of the park, especially for people walking alone after dark or for those venturing off the established paths. However, the Ramble was also one of the most beautiful sections of Central Park. Plus, there was no way in hell that Eric would let any physical harm come to Sookie—not ever again.

He closed his eyes, remembering the night he'd met Sookie. After she'd told him about Felipe and Victor, he'd grabbed her by the shoulders—roughly. Though he knew intellectually that he'd not really harmed her physically, he'd berated himself many times for touching her with any kind of anger whatsoever. He vowed that as long as he was breathing, he would make sure she was never touched that way again.

His thoughts were interrupted by her contented sigh as they walked toward the Azalea Pond. They stopped for a moment to enjoy the beautiful landmark, so fragment with the flowers that populated it in the spring and early summer. Then they wound their way along the twisty path until they got to the Ramble Stone Arch.

Sookie stopped them and looked up at the structure. "This is beautiful," she smiled.

He smiled back, only then realizing that they hadn't spoken since their walk began. It had been the most comfortable silence of his life—despite the myriad of thoughts that had been running through his mind. He knew that the comfort came from having Sookie near—feeling her pulse against his palm, hearing her soft sighs, smelling the faint scent of lavender when her ponytail swished a particular way.

Sookie's stomach growled loudly, interrupting the peaceful moment and causing them both to chuckle.

"Are you hungry?" Eric asked, suddenly excited that a meal would give him the chance to spend even more time with her.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Would you have dinner with me?"

"A date?"

"I thought we'd been on a date since lunch," Eric said with a half-smirk.

"You did buy me a hotdog," she smiled up at him.

"And a Coke," he reminded.

"And a Coke," she repeated.

He glanced down and saw her looking up at him. Her smile was an easy one—carefree—and he felt his blood surge at the thought that he'd been the one to make her beautiful lips turn upward. Her blue eyes shimmered like the slowly rolling waves of Lake Vänern in the cove near the lake house he'd helped his morfar build. The rays of the afternoon sun were framing her hair as if she were their source—as if she were the sun itself. And—in that moment—he felt almost painfully pulled to her like a plant so used to the dark that it bruised itself when greedily stretching for the new-found light.

Before Eric even registered that he had moved, his lips had met Sookie's. It was a kiss much like their first: explosive and all-consuming. Her hands were immediately on his shoulders, then on his neck, and then in his hair. His hands were drawn to her cheeks—craving to be warmed by them. Their lips and tongues moved in complete concert—together and singing. The kiss didn't end until they were both gasping for air.

"I like when we do that," she said breathlessly, for once speaking first when he was speechless.

"Me too," he agreed throatily before bending down to do it again.

This time, their lips moved together more slowly, but no less powerfully. They were lips that were finding, rather than searching. And—again—those lips separated only when their owners were forced to take breaths.

Eric had to work very hard to stop himself from throwing Sookie over his shoulder and taking her deep into the wilderness of the Ramble where he could make love to her. However, he took control over his lustful impulses because Sookie deserved so much better than that. Moreover, she deserved to know what he could offer her before they became more physical. She needed to know the truth so that she could choose—even if that choice would likely put him out of her life forever.

An errant strand of Sookie's hair stirred with the breeze, and Eric automatically reached up to push it softly behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" Sookie asked, sensing his mood change.

"Later?" he asked. "Can I tell you later?"

She looked at him closely, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "Okay," she said. "Later."

He sighed in relief and took her hand again. He brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss and then moved them along the path once more.

"Dinner would be nice," she said shyly after a few moments.

"Do you like Japanese food?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

His lips curled into a smile that she read all the way up to his eyes. "Tonight—we'll find out."

"I'd like that. And I like this," she said squeezing his hand, even as a blush rose into her cheeks.

"Me too," he responded, an easy smile now on his lips. "It's easy," he found himself saying to match that smile.

She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

They fell into silence again as they crossed the lake at Oak Bridge. They stopped in the middle of the structure and took in the view of the skyscrapers in the distance.

"It's a beautiful city," Eric said quietly.

"Yes," Sookie agreed.

"I want to stay in Manhattan," he added, a strain in his voice that Sookie couldn't quite decipher.

"Me too," she said.

He languidly stroked her palm with his thumb, sending ripples through her body that matched the ripples in the lake. She leaned against his side and heard him sigh deeply.

After a few minutes, they continued their walk. As they crossed Balcony Bridge, they saw a young couple—of probably no more than seventeen or eighteen—kissing vigorously. Eric chuckled a little as Sookie blushed furiously.

Once they had walked well beyond the lip-locked teens, Sookie looked up at him. "Is that what we look like—when we kiss?" she whispered shyly.

Eric smiled a little, recalling what Sookie and he had looked like—when he'd seen them in the video at the MET. He shook his head. "No."

She gave him a confused look. "How do you think we're different?"

He shrugged. "They are," he paused, "younger. And for them it's," he stopped, looking for the right word.

"Normal?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes. For us it's not normal at all."

She smiled, glad not to be "normal" for once.

Very glad.

Two hours later, Sookie had discovered that she did indeed like Japanese food—at least the sushi she'd tasted. In fact, she'd liked it very much. On the other hand, when she'd tried Eric's saké, she'd discovered that she didn't like that strong beverage. But she had enjoyed the Japanese beer that he'd suggested when she told him about her tastes in alcohol.

"I'm stuffed," she said, smiling at him as they left the restaurant. "And I feel," she paused, "happy."

"They call it a sushi high," he chuckled, even though both of them knew that it wasn't just the sushi that had put the smiles on their faces.

He walked them to the street and stepped slightly beyond the curb. Almost as soon as he lifted his long arm, a taxi pulled up. Once they'd settled into the vehicle, he gave the driver Sookie's address in Brooklyn.

"He can—uh—drop you off first," Sookie said, doing some quick mental math. She knew she had enough money to pay for the fare from wherever Eric lived to the nearest subway station. Or—if she wanted to take the taxi all the way home—there was an ATM machine close to Amelia's house, and she could use that to get the fare if she was short on cash.

"I'd like to ride with you—if that's okay?" Eric asked taking her hand.

Trapped in the intensity of his eyes, she couldn't deny him. Plus, she wasn't ready to say goodnight to him either.

Eric and Sookie spoke almost nonstop for the half hour it took them to get to Brooklyn Heights. They talked about food and the art they had seen; the conversation was light and easy.

"Will you come in?" she asked when the cab pulled up to her address. Even in the dark, he could see her blush.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. It was after 8:00, and he had an early meeting the next morning, but he didn't even consider ending his time with her. It felt too borrowed to squander.

He quickly paid the cabby and then took Sookie's hand and helped her out of the taxi.

"Your housemate isn't home?" he asked, taking in the fact that no lights were on.

"She's staying at her father's estate in the Hamptons. He's having a big party for his sixtieth birthday this coming weekend, and she's helping him get ready for it."

Eric nodded and then dropped Sookie's hand as she took her keys out of her purse.

Once inside, she locked the door and then took his hand again, leading him to her room without a word. She had free reign of the common parts of the house, but only her room was her own.

They sat on the bed together, not quite knowing what to do. They settled into silence, both of them looking at their interlocked hands.

"I should be wary of you, Eric Northman," she whispered—after they'd been quiet for what felt like several minutes.

"Yes," he couldn't help but to agree.

"I've 'heard' things about you—with my ability."

"What have you heard?" he asked with curiosity.

"That you've had a lot of one night stands. That you are dating Isabel Edgington. That you are a," she paused and turned pink.

"I'm a?" he asked.

"Man-whore," she finished sheepishly.

He chuckled. "I guess I am—was—a man-whore. But I haven't had any one night stands since last December. And Isabel and I are just friends—now."

"And before now?"

He answered honestly. "We used to sleep together—friends with benefits, one might say. But that ended in April. Now we just go to events together, and being seen with her helps to alleviate some of the pressure my father used to place onto me to get together with Freyda de Castro."

"You know Freyda's a little crazy—right?" Sookie commented.

Eric chuckled. "Yes. But it's better than when Appius wanted for me to hook up with Nora."

Sookie's forehead crinkled. "That's so—uh—gross," she said blushingly. "She's—uh—like your sister."

"Stepsister," Eric corrected. "But you're right. It was gross. I never wanted to be with her like that."

"Why did you go out with her then?" Sookie asked.

"My father pressured me, and I caved." Eric sighed. "I always do. I took Nora out a few times, and I even tried to—uh—perform with her."

"Not good?" Sookie asked.

"No," he confirmed. "It—um—didn't work."

"It?"

He looked down toward his lap. "It," he said significantly, certainly feeling life in his cock as it stirred when she glanced in its direction.

She reddened once more. "Uh—why did you try that? With Nora?"

"She thought she wanted me at the time, and she is my father's favorite. He would give her anything."

"You were the 'anything?'"

"Yeah. At least for a little while. Plus, since she's his favorite child—well, except for maybe Appius, Jr. now—he's always wanted her to be a Northman, but having her remain a Gainesborough was also beneficial. And my father didn't want to risk alienating the Gainesboroughs by pushing an official adoption. It was controversial enough when Nora stayed in New York with Appius after her mother died. Of course, Beth's Will was ironclad about Nora's custody." He sighed. "If I married Nora, she would finally be a Northman—in name—and that fact would please Appius."

Sookie sighed. "I know she's not your real sister, but it's all a little," she paused.

"Sick? Yeah," Eric agreed with another sigh. "I am hoping that Nora never develops a renewed interest in me. And if she does, I hope to be able to make an arrangement with her."

"An arrangement?"

"Yes—she can have her life, and I will have mine. Nora cannot have children, so I would not be needed in that respect."

"Oh," Sookie said embarrassedly. After another minute of silence, she asked, "What about all the other women? Did you—do you—care for them?"

"Isabel—yes," he answered truthfully. "I believe that I will come to an arrangement with her—when it's time for me to marry," he added in a quieter tone.

"When will that be?" Sookie asked, her voice betraying her emotion.

"On or before I turn 35," Eric said with heartbreaking matter-of-factness. He looked at her, his eyes filled with regret. "I have to marry a woman who meets a list of qualifications my father has set. There's a," he paused, "contract between us, and if I break it, a lot of people will be hurt. I'm trapped," he finished, his voice breaking around the final word.

She looked into his eyes; she could see the maelstrom of feelings in them, but his resignation was the hardest one for her to take.

"And Isabel? She would meet the list of qualifications?"

He nodded.

"And I wouldn't."

"No," he whispered.

She took a deep breath. "And the other women—the one night stands?"

"They meant nothing beyond temporary pleasure to me. I have never felt," he paused, "attachment to any woman before."

"But there have been a lot of them—a lot of women?" she asked insecurely.

"Yes," he answered straightforwardly. "More than you would think of as decent, but probably fewer than the office gossips would assume."

She nodded and took a deep breath as she took in what he had said.

"Sookie, have you been with anyone before? Have you had sex before?" he asked softly.

Though his question took her somewhat by surprise, she nodded. "Yes. One person. Bill."

"Good," he said, even as he fought his jealousy.

"Good?" she asked, a little surprised by his response.

"Yes. I would never want to hurt you, Sookie, and I'm," he paused, "bigger than most."

Of their own accord, her eyes traveled once more to his waist, and she saw the outline of his manhood in his jeans. She gasped.

"Sookie," he said almost as if in pain. "I want you—badly. I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone else. Do you want me?"

She gasped again—this time at the fervor of his words—and took in a sharp breath. She nodded. "Yes. I want you."

"It doesn't have to be tonight, Sookie."

"If it is tonight, will it only be for tonight?" she asked so softly that he could barely make out the words.

"Are you asking if you are like the others?"

"Yes. If I am, I can't be with you," she said honestly, her voice catching. "I already feel," she paused, "attached to you. Maybe I shouldn't because I hardly know you." She sighed. "Or maybe I should be afraid of you after you shook me like you did in the elevator."

"I wish I hadn't done that," he said contritely, "but. . . ." He stopped.

"But?"

"There is no 'but,'" he answered after a moment. "There is no excuse. I could tell you that I was frustrated and angry at the information you had given me. I could tell you that I didn't mean to hurt you—to take hold of you so hard that I probably bruised your skin. I could tell you that I didn't sleep that night because I was worried that I had left a mark on your beautiful body. I could tell you that I really did think you were a spy for a while. Or I could tell you that I wanted you so badly that the thought of you working against me drove me a little crazy. And all of those things are true. But none of those things are justification for me laying my hands on you that way."

He moved his free hand gently to her shoulder and brushed his fingertips over her T-shirt in light touches she could barely feel.

"I should be afraid of you for so many reasons," she whispered as they gazed into each other's eyes, "but I'm not."

"I won't hurt you, Sookie. Never."

"Not physically," she said. "But one day, you'll leave me."

He took his hand from her shoulder and looked down, his own shoulders sloping. He closed his eyes and nodded in concession.

"You'll have to leave me," she added.

He sighed. "Not until I am forced."

"I won't be a kept woman, Eric. I won't be your mistress."

Eric shook his head, the agony clear in his eyes as he reopened them. "I don't have all the answers. I never have. But I won't lie to you. And—as long as we are together—I won't sleep with anyone else. I won't even look at anyone else. I don't think I could."

"What about in the future?"

He closed his eyes again and shook his head a little. "I don't have a future, Sookie," he whispered. "I have only what is expected of me—what will be forced upon me. It is something that I will merely exist inside. And that—to me—is not a future."

"No," she whispered in agreement. "It's not."

He looked at her again, and his tumultuous blue eyes jolted her, causing her heart to ache. "I could have a now," he said quietly. "With you, I could have a now," he repeated in almost disbelief.

They stared silently at each other for a few moments: blue lost in blue.

"I've never been selfish before, Sookie," Eric said, holding her hand just a little more firmly than he had before.

She didn't mind the added pressure; in fact, she matched it. "And now?"

"I can't help myself." His blue orbs suddenly filled with tears that he fought to keep from falling. One didn't obey and made its way sluggishly down his cheek. "God help me—I can't help myself," he repeated as if confessing a sin.

She raised her hand to wipe away the lone tear. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you?"

"I turned 31 on February 28."

"So we would have less than four years," she sighed.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Three years and eight months of now. Three years and eight months to make you happy."

"And you?" she asked.

"As I said, I am being selfish," he responded with a soft smile. "I would be happy too."

"And after that?" she asked.

"We break," he said, his brutal honesty stealing the air out of the room for a moment.

"We break," she repeated—a tone of inevitability in her voice.

"Yes. At least, I will break—when I lose you." He closed his eyes again. "If I were a better man, I wouldn't have put myself in your path today."

"Because I'll break too," she said.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll leave a long time before the three years and eight months is over. Maybe you'll realize that I'm not worth breaking for. Sookie," his voice cracked, "I'm not worth breaking for." His eyes seemed to be imploring her to run from him—to get away. They held so much sincerely and warning that Sookie knew he believed his words right down to the core of his being.

"Don't," she said immediately and with just as much passion. "You are beautiful. You are intelligent. You are unique. And one look into your eyes made me feel like everything bad in my world could be burned up by your gaze. So don't."

He sighed. "You have a good memory, Sookie Stackhouse," he said as he recognized the very words he'd spoken to her earlier.

"What about our three years and eight months?" she asked. "What would they be like?"

His expression immediately filled with hope. "I don't know—not exactly. But I feel," he paused, "good when I'm with you." He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "I want to be with you more than I want to breathe. I know I've gone about it all wrong. I kissed you, only to turn around and manhandle you. I watched you and I had you watched. You shouldn't trust me."

"But you want me to?"

"Yes."

"So we just don't think about what happens after the expiration date?"

"I can't," he said with a pang of desperation in his voice. "I can't think about that."

"Okay," she said quietly.

He took a deep breath. "I've always been good with numbers."

"Numbers?"

He nodded. "Last week—when I was in Gallery 758, I realized that I could be happy for almost five percent of my life if I had three years and eight months with you—if I live to the average age men live to in this country, that is." He chuckled mirthlessly. "When I got home, I double-checked with a calculator, just to make sure."

"Five percent," she said almost wistfully.

"Yeah," he answered. "Actually, 4.8%, but still more than I ever hoped for before. But if you want more than that—and you should want more since you certainly deserve more—then I'll go. I'll leave you alone, Sookie. No more having you followed—not even to make sure you're safe if you don't want that. No more watching. No more anything," his voice trailed off sadly.

She gripped his hand a little tighter and looked down at the hardwood floor in her room. She'd studied the patterns in the wood many times.

"I don't know," she said after a few minutes of silence had passed between them. "I don't know if it's enough."

He raised her chin so that her eyes met his and then brushed a wisp of her golden hair behind her ear. He spoke softly, "You don't have to decide right now, Sookie."

"Next Sunday?" Sookie said as if in question. "Can I tell you then?"

"You can," Eric said. His eyes held uncertainty and sadness, but also something else—hope maybe.

Sookie bit her lip, wondering if her own eyes held the same things. Those were certainly the emotions she was feeling.

"It's okay, Sookie," Eric said with a little smile. "You don't have to give yourself a deadline to decide. We have too many of those already. You're worth waiting for—even if I never," he paused, "have you."

"You have me," she whispered, "already."

"And you have me," he returned.

"I'll try to have an answer for the both of us by next Sunday," she said.

He nodded, the intensity in his eyes growing as he looked at her lips. "Can I give you a goodnight kiss, Sookie?"

"No!" she cried out loudly.


	21. The One in the Mirror

Chapter 21: The One in the Mirror

"It's okay," he responded quickly and quietly, lowering his eyes. Sookie could see the disappointment in them. "I understand. I'll just go."

"No," she said again, this time in a softer tone, even as she put her free hand on his leg in order to make sure he didn't get up. "What I mean is that I don't want you to leave."

"But I figured that since we're not going to," he glanced down at the bed and continued almost shyly, "have sex yet, you'd want me to—uh—go. I figured you'd want some time alone to think about—um—everything."

Sookie blushed a crimson red when she, too, glanced at the bed. "I don't need to be alone to think. Would you stay?" Sookie asked hopefully. "We could talk for a while, or we could just—uh—never mind," she stopped abruptly and shook her head.

"Or we could what, Sookie?" Eric asked gently.

She looked back into his eyes, her own orbs wide and searching. "I was going to say that we could," she paused, "sleep, but you have an early morning, and I'm sure you need to get home."

"No," he said immediately and loudly.

She jumped a little, startled by his sudden vehemence and volume.

Eric lowered his voice and chuckled nervously at his own reaction. "I want to stay with you, Sookie," he said intently, his eyes telling her just how much. "The trip to Manhattan will take the same amount of time whether I go now or early in the morning. I'd like to stay and talk—or sleep." He took a deep breath. "I'd very much like to sleep here—with you."

She swallowed hard as she took in the contradictions in Eric's always expressive eyes. They were intense and passionate, but they were also soft and gentle. His hand—still holding hers—was a similar enigma. He had a way of holding onto her tightly, yet tenderly. His skin against hers was somehow both electric and soothing. She couldn't help but to wonder if every interaction she would have with Eric Northman would be full of such contradictions.

"I don't want to toy with you, Eric," Sookie said reservedly. "And I'm afraid that I'm sending you mixed signals here."

"You're not," he assured.

"It's not that I don't want to—uh—be intimate with you," she said almost pleadingly.

"I know," he responded. "And I want to be intimate with you too, but there is more than one kind of intimacy, and I want them all with you."

She gasped a little at his fervor.

Eric continued, "I understand that you need to take some time to decide what you want to do about us before we have sex." He sighed. "You're right about sex changing things; I fear that it will make it harder to let go," he said softly as he caressed her cheek. "I'm just glad that you're not sending me away right now."

"I don't want to send you away."

He smiled. "Thank you, Sookie. Thank you for even considering all this."

She sighed and leaned into his touch. "I'm thankful to you too."

Disbelief and awe flickered into Eric's eyes at her words.

"But I don't want to give you the wrong idea, Eric," she said, her voice still conveying concern. "I don't want to lead you on."

"You're not. We both need sleep—right?" he asked reasonably.

She nodded.

"And if I go home alone, my head will be swimming with you, and I'll toss and turn all night."

She smiled and pinkened again. "I wouldn't be able to sleep either."

"So this is the most practical choice," he said, smiling back at her.

She nodded again.

"So—uh," Eric said, once more looking a little unsure of himself, "how do we do this? I've never actually slept with anyone before."

"Really?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

"Sex does not need sleep," he said gently, the tiniest of smirks framing his lips.

"Oh—of course," she stammered. "Uh—well—I usually put on pajamas, climb into bed, and then read for a while—um—until I can fall asleep."

He smiled. "Sounds good."

"Um—do you—uh—have something you can sleep in? Boxers maybe? Bill slept in those once when he—uh—forgot his pajamas."

Eric immediately bristled with jealousy. He knew he had no right to feel that way, but he did nonetheless.

"I'm wearing boxer-briefs," he informed. "Is that okay? I could sleep in my jeans if it's not. I can sleep in all this—if you want," he said gesturing to the clothing he was wearing.

"No. Boxer-briefs are fine," Sookie said, her voice high-pitching and sputtering a little.

Sookie reluctantly pulled her hand from his and stood up before grabbing a nightgown and her bathroom bag from her dresser.

"I—uh—use the bathroom right across the hall. I'll be right back, and then you can go."

He nodded.

Once in the bathroom, she completed her evening ritual on autopilot, even as her mind teemed with thoughts.

For one thing, she couldn't believe that Eric Northman was in her bedroom! She couldn't believe that she'd just spent the whole day with him. And that day had—undoubtedly—been the best of her life! Even the hardest part of it—finding out that any relationship she had with Eric would come with an expiration date—hadn't ruined what she'd experienced with him that day. She shivered a little as she looked in the mirror.

Along with disbelief, she felt nervous at the thought that she was going to be sharing a bed with the beautiful man waiting for her. Somehow, she knew that he wouldn't make any unwelcome—or welcome—sexual advances toward her, despite his reputation. However, she couldn't quite figure out why she felt so safe with him; she'd certainly never experienced the same level of comfort and trust with anyone else—not even with Bill whom she'd been with for the better part of a year.

Sookie's mind was questioning a million things regarding Eric. Why did being with him feel so good and so natural? How did she seem to know him in some fundamental way that transcended the information she had about him? How was it possible that he felt the same way, despite the fact that they'd spent so little time together?

Amazingly, what she didn't question was his sincerity or the truth of his words. After all, how could she question a connection that she felt from the inside out?

Sookie took a deep breath and noticed that her reflection was smiling back at her. She smiled a little wider. Despite her nerves and her disbelief, the main feeling ricocheting through her was undeniable: happiness.

She gathered up her dirty clothing and other personal items—except for her toothpaste, which she left behind for Eric's use. She made sure a clean towel was next to the sink, and then she walked quietly through the house to Amelia's bathroom. Given the fact that her housemate often entertained "guests," Sookie hoped that Amelia might have an unopened toothbrush.

Sookie's smile stayed in place when she thought about how she now felt comfortable enough around Amelia to "borrow" things from her. Although something simple like a toothbrush was easily replaceable, Sookie would have been reticent to take one in the past—even just a couple of months before. Sookie opened the top drawer in Amelia's vanity and found several packaged toothbrushes. She grabbed one and then double-checked that the front door was locked on her way back to her bedroom.

The sight she saw there made her mouth water.

Eric's bare back was to her, and his muscles rippled just under the surface of his skin like gentle waves over smooth rocks. She heard the zip of his jeans and forced herself to say something before she turned into even more of a voyeur.

"I found a new toothbrush that you can have," she said.

As Eric turned around Sookie gasped a little. If Eric's back was perfect, then his chest was something that odes should have been written about. It was broad and perfectly formed. The muscles that controlled his graceful movements were well-defined, but they were not too large. His torso was long, and it tapered to abs that created a "six-pack" that was obvious, without being too severe. A prominent "V" shape of muscles and smooth flesh drew her eyes toward his unfastened jeans, but she wouldn't allow her gaze to roam lower. She was already blushing as she raked her eyes upward until they rested on his.

She'd expected to see a little arrogance in his beautiful blue orbs—or at least recognition that she'd been gawking at him—but he seemed just as affected by her body as she was by his.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, removing the distance that had separated them with two long strides.

How his jeans stayed up was anyone's guess. And how her eyes kept from straying to the trail of light hair leading downward to his dark gray underwear, which was peeking through his unzipped jeans, was a miracle in and of itself. Her skin heated and tingled at the thought.

Her blush grew deeper as he put his hand on her cheek and tilted her face up a little. All of her life, she had hated being exposed to scrutiny, but under Eric's gaze, she didn't feel apprehension or fear.

She felt only one thing: cherished.

As Eric waited for Sookie to come back to the bedroom, he was barely able to stay in control of his hormones. In fact, ever since they'd arrived at her house and sat on her bed—a bed that he very badly wanted to test for any squeaks—he'd been having difficulty keeping his libido in check.

But he'd managed to reign himself in. Despite the cravings of his body, he knew that it wasn't the right time to have sex with Sookie. Clearly, she wasn't a person who would be okay with having a one night stand, especially not with someone she truly cared about. And—miraculously—Eric knew that Sookie cared for him. Thus, no matter how much his body yearned for hers, he was determined to give her all the time she needed in order to make up her mind about him and about the limited things he could offer her.

He ached to give her so much more; he ached to give her the world.

But all that he could give was what he had. And he vowed to give her everything he had, leaving nothing behind for himself. He knew that when he was forced to break both of their hearts, he would become a shell again. He recognized that the hole inside of him would be back—and larger. But he couldn't stop himself from craving a little happiness—4.8 percent of a life.

Eric sighed. He knew he was being extremely selfish. He knew that nothing he was offering was fair to Sookie. He knew it wasn't enough.

He buried his face into his hands for a minute and contemplated leaving, getting away from Sookie before they became even more entangled with each other. He wasn't naïve; he realized that leaving wouldn't help to protect his own heart. Whether she was out of his life in three years or three minutes, he recognized that he'd be empty without her. But he figured that it might be less painful for her if he left before they truly got started.

But again he found himself to be selfish—too selfish to go.

Instead, he rose to his feet and looked at the bed. There was a nightstand on either side of it, and from the stack of books on the nightstand closest to the door, Eric could tell which side of the bed Sookie slept on. He walked over to the other side and put his cell phone, wallet, and keys on "his" nightstand. He smiled a little as he saw the items there, looking as if they belonged. He sat down on the bed once more and removed his shoes and socks. He looked around, wondering where he should put them.

Eric saw the open closet door and got up with his shoes and socks in hand. He found an open spot on the closet floor next to Sookie's few pairs of shoes, and he placed his own footwear there. Again, he smiled as he took in how his things looked next to hers.

Almost on automatic pilot, Eric moved so that he was in front of Sookie's dresser. He took off his T-shirt. Seeing how tidy everything was in Sookie's room, he folded the garment and placed it on top of the dresser before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

"I found a new toothbrush that you can have," Sookie's soft voice said from behind him.

Eric turned toward that voice like a moth to a flame. And once he saw Sookie in her white nightgown, all thoughts except for those of his yearning for her left his brain. Beyond his command, one part of his anatomy in particular took notice of her curves, and Eric could feel the pressure of that part against his unfastened jeans.

Eric had seen women in lingerie many times, wearing small pieces of lace and silk that left very little—or nothing—to the imagination. By contrast, Sookie's white cotton nightgown was downright conservative. The garment had thin straps which led to a modest neckline; only a hint of her smooth cleavage swelled above the fabric, but that hint was more than enough to tantalize him. The bodice of the nightgown both concealed and embraced Sookie's breasts, and Eric almost growled in passion as he realized that there was no way she could be wearing a bra. The nightgown gathered at a high waste and then the fabric fell in an easy way before ending several inches below Sookie's knees.

Lifting his eyes to her face, Eric couldn't stop his sharp intake of breath. Without doubt, he knew that Sookie's sweet face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She didn't wear much make-up, but now that her face had been scrubbed, he could see several freckles he'd not noticed before. Her cheeks were a natural pink, contrasting with the faint tan of her complexion. And her eyelashes, though not blond, were lighter than they were with mascara.

He would have said that she looked "innocent" or "pure"—like an angel—but she was so goddamned sexy in that moment that those were the last words that entered his mind.

She was blushing as their eyes locked, and in that moment he knew that she'd been checking him out just as much as he'd been checking her out. Generally, he would have made a snide comment if he caught a woman ogling him so blatantly, but that would have been hypocritical, giving his own study of Sookie's body in her nightgown. Plus, she had once again left him almost speechless. Almost.

"You're beautiful," he managed to say as he found himself in front of her and caressing her ruddy cheek. He couldn't remember crossing the room to get to her. Hell—he wasn't even sure he remembered his own name in that moment. But he committed her face and the softness of her skin to his memory. Those things—those precious things—he would never forget.

"You're beautiful," he said again. "So beautiful."

She smiled at him, her eyes showing her acceptance of the compliment.

He smiled back and took the toothbrush she was holding out for him. "Thanks," he said, using that word to convey his gratitude for much more than the toothbrush. He bent down and gave her the slightest of kisses on her golden hair. Anything else and he may not have been able to stop himself for worshipping every inch of her lovely body.

Eric crossed the hall and went into the bathroom. His dick was pushing uncomfortably against his unfastened jeans, but at least the strong denim had kept his erection from being too obvious.

"Down boy. Not tonight," Eric whispered to his aching member as he relieved the pressure it was under by pushing his jeans over his hips. He sighed with relief as his dick was now encumbered only by his soft underwear. Knowing that he'd need to take his time in order for his swollen member to "settle down," he turned his attention to getting ready for bed.

After folding his jeans and putting them onto the counter next to the sink, he splashed some water on his face—and then a little more. He was nervous and excited by the prospect of sleeping with Sookie. But—at the same time—he felt guilty.

Again, Eric contemplated leaving, running shoeless and shirtless into the night. But that would be running away from his heart's desire. And he just didn't have the strength to do that—not anymore.

Instead, he opened the toothbrush Sookie had given him and brushed his teeth. Then he sat on the edge of the tub and waited for his erection to go down enough for him to use the bathroom. It took him ten minutes of reciting memorized poetry in his head before his dick finally cooperated.

While washing his hands, he looked in the mirror. The man he saw there looked unfamiliar. He looked younger than he had that morning. He looked lighter. His shoulders were relaxed. He had a small smile on his lips. He looked happy.

Eric had never seen the man before.


	22. The Good Kind of Fear

Chapter 22: The Good Kind of Fear

Barely controlling the butterflies in her stomach, Sookie turned on the two lamps in the room and then turned off the overhead light. She got into her bed, noticing for the first time just how small it seemed. She propped her pillows up a little and leaned against them, trying to analyze why she felt so ready—impatient even—for Eric Northman to sleep in her bed.

It certainly wasn't because she'd had wonderful experiences sharing a bed with Bill in the past. On the nights that Bill would stay with her, they slept together after they had sex, but Bill had claimed that he would get too hot if he held her during the night. Thus, sharing a bed with Bill hadn't really been that intimate; of course, now that she knew better, Sookie understood that sex with Bill hadn't been that "intimate" either. After all, true intimacy couldn't be based on deception and manipulation.

She'd been with Bill for quite a while before he'd kissed her on the lips and for quite a while longer before she'd lost her virginity to him. After that, they'd quickly fallen into the routine of spending two nights a week together: every Monday and every Wednesday—like clockwork.

Those nights were always the same, and even for Sookie, who enjoyed routine, they'd seemed scripted—too scripted. At precisely 9:30 on each night that they spent together, Bill would take her hand and lead her to the bedroom. He would always turn around to undress himself, so that is what she would do too. Then they would both climb under the sheets.

Bill would initiate their kissing immediately, and the path he followed was always the same. He would spend a little time on her lips. Then he would move to her breasts, which he seemed to like. Then he would trail kisses back up to her neck—often marking it or her collarbone with a small hickey—before giving her a last kiss on the lips.

After that, he would grab the condom he'd left already opened on the nightstand. From their first time to their last time, he always entered her from above. Bill seemed to enjoy the missionary position, and Sookie had never had sex any other way, so she had nothing to compare it to, nor had she been confident enough to ask for anything else.

Plus, that position had felt nice—except for her first time, which had hurt a little. Bill had—to his credit—gone slower that first time, even touching her a little to make sure she was "ready" before he put his member into her. The touching had been especially pleasurable, but—unfortunately—after that first time, touching was no longer part of the routine. It was as if Bill prioritized their actions, and anything that didn't fit into his timetable was simply left out.

As if even his ejaculations were on a schedule, Bill would "finish" at around 9:45 each night they had sex. Then he would always lie on his back pulling her to his chest until the clock on her bedside table read 10:00. Those minutes of cuddling soon became Sookie's favorite part of sex. However, at 10:00, Bill would indicate that he needed to get to sleep. At that point, he would get up, go to the bathroom, shower, and put on his pajamas before getting back into bed.

Sookie had soon learned that his preference was for her to do the same as soon as he was done in the bathroom. So she would. He was always snoring—his back turned away from the bed's center—by the time she was done with her shower.

Still—despite the formulaic nature of it—she had liked sex with Bill. It had felt good, and—for once—she'd felt like a "normal" girl.

After their second time together, Sookie had even felt confident enough to rock her hips along with him, and doing so had increased her pleasure. However, when she'd gotten lost in her enjoyment and had tried to move a little more, Bill had groaned in frustration as he lost his rhythm. After that, Sookie had concentrated on keeping her hips still during sex, which seemed to make Bill happier as he slipped in and out of her at a rapid cadence, taking himself to completion with the consistency of a metronome.

Especially during her first month of having sex with Bill, Sookie hadn't questioned his bedroom behavior; in fact, in her nervous inexperience, she'd welcomed the routine. However, eventually her mind went back to the information she'd found out about sex throughout her life. It was certainly a common topic, so the lip-reader had "overheard" quite a few conversations about it. People tended to discuss it as something extremely coveted and pleasurable. And—if the shape of Bill's mouth were any indication—he certainly seemed to have a transcendent moment each time they had sex. So—naturally—Sookie had begun to wonder what was wrong with her and why her body couldn't produce an orgasm during sex.

Other than the lips of people whispering about sex, most of what Sookie knew about physical intimacy had come from a Harlequin Romance novel she had discovered in Gran's bookcase. Not knowing what kind of book it was, Sookie had read the romance novel one Saturday after she'd finished To Kill a Mockingbird, a book she'd brought home from the school's library. It was about six months after Sookie had moved in with Gran, and the older woman was spending the day with a sick friend. Gran had always said that Sookie could borrow any book she wanted, but Sookie had been reticent to do so, not wanting to disturb anything and risk being sent away. However, that day, she'd picked a title off the shelf that had always caught her eye: Separate Lives. On the cover was a man and woman who looked happy as they sat on the floor playing with a couple of kittens.

Needless to say, the book had been eye-opening to the introverted sixteen-year-old.

Not long after reading Separate Lives, Sookie had touched herself for the first time and discovered how to bring herself to an orgasm. The people whom she had overheard talking about orgasms at school and church had been right; they were wonderful. However, after a few months of having sex with Bill, Sookie reconciled herself to the fact that she was somehow broken, for no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the pleasant pressure that built inside of her while Bill was pumping in and out of her, she could never get over the edge—so to speak.

Resolving to be grateful for the nice sensations she did get from sex with Bill, Sookie had concentrated on doing anything she could to make things better for him. His lips showed her that he liked it when she gripped his upper arms while he was thrusting into her. He also groaned a little more pronouncedly when she spread her legs wider when he was inside of her, and even though her impulse was to wrap her legs around him, she did what he enjoyed.

She also started reading some articles and books about sex, hoping to learn more specific information so that she could be pleasing to Bill. Some of the articles suggested that sex between a couple improved as they got to know each other's bodies more and more. Thus, Sookie began to hope for that.

But other things in the articles that she read made her apprehensive. Almost all of them indicated that "spice" and "variety" were necessary in a long-term sexual relationship, so Sookie began to fear that Bill would become bored or frustrated with her. She also worried that he'd set such an unvarying routine only to accommodate her.

Consequently, she decided that she needed to try to do something more for Bill. Her lip-reading had told her that many people enjoyed oral sex, so she read several articles about how to give a man a blow job, and after downing half a bottle of wine before Bill arrived one night—and then another glass with dinner—she gave him one. Bill had seemed to enjoy himself and had definitely had a release, but he'd made no attempt to return the favor—so to speak. They'd not had regular sex that night either, nor had there been any cuddling; however, Sookie still hoped that the new facet of their sex life might eventually lead to other things and make him happier with her.

She'd been wrong.

The second time Sookie had tried to take his member into her mouth, Bill told Sookie not to. He'd lectured her matter-of-factly that it was "untoward for committed couples to do such things and that—as a proper lady—she shouldn't even want to do them." He'd said that he was actually happy that she was such a "neophyte—and so unskilled—in the art of fellatio." He added that while he had appreciated her "efforts to please him," he didn't want her to continue doing such "a degrading thing." Of course, his words had taken the wind out of Sookie's sails when it came to trying new things.

Those words had also made her feel ashamed—ashamed that she had, as Bill claimed, degraded and cheapened herself somehow. And—given her own inexperience—she had followed Bill's lead. In fact, she had even stopped herself from "wanting" to have an orgasm with Bill after he'd explained that "proper women ought not to be overly passionate." She'd also stopped bringing herself to releases on the long, lonely nights when she had sexual urges.

Despite her growing nervousness about sex, however, Sookie had been grateful to be in a relationship—too grateful to "rock the boat." With Bill, she had no longer faced a future of perpetual loneliness. And even though he didn't touch her or hold her as much as she would have liked, it had been nice hearing his breathing and feeling his warmth from the other side of her bed when he stayed over. She hadn't necessarily gotten more or better sleep when he was with her, but she had enjoyed not being alone.

Given her past, it had been easy for her to accept what she'd been given without complaint.

However, Bill had started to seem distracted during sex in the last couple of months they were together, and Sookie feared that it was because she was doing something wrong in the bedroom. Finally, she decided that she had to talk to Bill—to find out what she needed to "fix."

So—on one of their appointed nights together—about a month before her relationship with Bill ended—Sookie finally summoned the courage to ask him if they could talk about something important. She had cooked him his favorite meal and had just poured him a second glass of wine when she broached the topic of their sexual relationship.

She certainly hadn't expected the response Bill gave her. He shocked her by getting down on one knee and producing what he called a "promise" ring. They'd been together eight months by then, and he explained that he would ask her to marry him "properly" when the time was "right." Meanwhile, he said that he wanted her to wear the small gold band he'd gotten for her so that she understood the depth of his affections as well as his intentions for their future together.

After he'd slipped the ring onto her finger, Sookie had forgotten her initial purpose for the evening. Almost formally, Bill had asked her if they could alter the routine that they'd been following so that he could stay with her an additional night each week. Given their "pre-engagement," he suggested that they add Friday nights to their Monday/Wednesday schedule; he even indicated that he could stay with her into Saturday afternoon on the weeks when he didn't have projects due, instead of leaving early in the morning as was his usual practice after spending the night. Sookie had agreed happily.

She had hoped that their spending an extra night together and having a morning "to sleep in," as Bill put it, might lead to less hurried sex. She had also hoped that being "promised" to each other would make her feel a closer connection with him.

Her hopes had been naïve.

In fact, sex between her and Bill did change after he'd given her the promise ring. First, it became less frequent, and—ironically—she saw him less often because he would often cancel their weekday nights together, citing the "extra weekend time they'd added" as an excuse.

Less than a month after Bill had "pre-proposed" to her, Sookie received her visit from Lorena, who proceeded to let her know that Bill was so "bored" when he had sex with Sookie that he'd needed to seek out someone more "satisfying." Lorena was graphic as she gleefully reported the ways she and Bill had found mutual "satisfaction" together. And Lorena's cruel laughter had certainly reinforced all of Sookie's fears regarding her own lack of sexual skill. That laughter had followed her to New York.

Luckily, one of the first books she copy edited when she got to NP was a textbook about sexual relationships. From it, Sookie began to understand that it might actually have been Bill who was a bad lover—and a selfish and manipulative one at that. After editing that book, she checked out others from the public library and did a lot of internet research about unhealthy sexual relationships.

It had taken Sookie months of research before she acknowledged that Bill had been using sex as a tool of control with her. He'd pursued her with false intentions, and then he'd wanted her to fit the mold of a genteel Southern lady.

Claudine had helped Sookie even more, and though Sookie had talked about her relationship with Bill in only general terms until recently, her therapist had guided her in overcoming much of the trepidation and shame she'd developed about sex. Once getting the whole story, Claudine had posited that Bill was likely incapable of having a healthy, balanced sexual relationship. She figured that Bill had used both Lorena and Sookie for opposite reasons—that he suffered from what psychologists called the Madonna-whore complex. Sookie had been Bill's "Madonna," someone he felt he could mold into the "perfect woman." On the other hand, Lorena had been Bill's "whore," someone he could use to fulfill his "darker" sexual urges. In truth, neither of Bill's conceptions of the women in his life had been real; both were projections of his own desires, likely fueled by something in his past.

Whatever Bill's malfunction, Sookie was working very hard to make sure that her screwed up relationship with Bill didn't frame her current interest in intimacy with a certain tall blonde.

In fact, thanks to her reading and Claudine's guidance, Sookie understood that she'd done nothing wrong when it came to sex with Bill. Moreover, Sookie had come to think of herself as still a virgin in a lot of ways—not in a physical sense, but in an emotional one. She looked forward to a time when sex wasn't stilted by a schedule. She looked forward to a time when a lover thought more of her than himself. Yes—she had started to accept the fact that she deserved much more than she'd gotten from Bill.

However, despite her progress, Sookie couldn't help but to be nervous about the idea of sex with Eric. He was so experienced, and she just wasn't. Still—next to her nervousness was not fear. It was exhilaration and anticipation. Sookie intuited that making love to Eric would be better than anything she'd ever imagined, especially given the reaction of her body when they'd kissed. In fact, she felt her stomach tying itself into knots as she remembered how their tongues had entwined so seamlessly. She warmed at the memory of his hands—so passionate and tender—on her face. She wondered what those hands would feel like in other places on her body.

Sookie shook her head to take herself out of the thoughts that threatened to take her over. She knew that tonight was not the night to have sex with Eric—no matter how much the prospect thrilled and tempted her.

She took a steadying breath and put Eric's talented hands and mouth out of her mind—at least for the moment. Instead, she tried to figure out why the thought of his leaving her house earlier had made her feel like she'd be losing a part of herself if he did.

Despite her immediate connection with him, she hardly knew Eric, and what she did know wasn't necessarily flattering to him. Many called him a womanizer, and most everyone at the office thought he was involved with Isabel Edgington. But Sookie had believed Eric when he told her about his friendship with Isabel and his "non-relationships" with the others.

More disconcerting to Sookie was the fact that he'd had her followed, even if—as he'd claimed—it had been only to make sure she was safe. Moreover, he'd basically admitted to stalking her for several hours each Sunday!

In addition to those red flags, Eric Northman was so far out of her league when it came to money and looks and social position that it wasn't even funny.

Still, Sookie felt something with him that she'd never felt before. She just couldn't name what that something was yet. She wasn't even sure that it had a name, but she wanted to continue feeling it.

Was it love?

She shivered and grabbed one of the books off of her nightstand. She didn't want to think about whether or not she loved Eric Northman; she couldn't—not yet. Quickly, she opened her book to the place where she'd left off, even as she concentrated on taking deep breaths. Eric had the ability either to make her breathe easier or to take her breath away. She couldn't help but to guess that it would be the latter when he walked back into the room.

She wasn't wrong.

He was in only his dark gray boxer-briefs when he reentered her room, and they didn't leave much of his lithe body to the imagination. With great effort, however, she kept her eyes on his eyes.

"Do you close your door when you sleep?" he asked.

She nodded, "Would you lock it too?" She knew that Amelia wouldn't be there that night, and—even if she was—she wouldn't come into Sookie's room without knocking, but Sookie always locked her door at night just the same.

Eric nodded and then turned around to face the door. When he did, Sookie couldn't prevent her eyes from traveling to his perfect bottom. In his suit, he looked good from behind. In his jeans, he looked amazing. And in next to nothing at all, he was sin itself—better than any masterpiece she'd ever seen.

Almost tentatively, Eric closed and locked Sookie's bedroom door. He'd spent a total of fifteen minutes in the bathroom, much of that time willing his erection away. However, it had threatened to return with full force as soon as he saw Sookie waiting for him in her bed.

He concentrated with all of his might on keeping his dick at bay—at least until he could hide it safely under the blankets. Feeling the heat of her gaze as she checked him out was certainly not helping in that cause, so he moved to "his" side of the double bed without looking at her too closely. He also tried to keep his cock turned away from her so that she couldn't see it springing to life in his underwear.

At home, Eric had a California king-sized bed, so fitting himself into Sookie's standard-sized bed was going to be a challenge, especially since he was sharing it and didn't know how close Sookie would want him. He carefully situated his 6'4" frame on "his" side of the bed and then turned to look at his bedmate, immediately glad that he'd waited to do so until his cock was under cover.

She looked gorgeous. In the soft light of her lamp, he could see even more freckles spattered across her cheeks than he had before. He wanted to reach out and trace each one on her face and then go seeking out any others that were hidden on her body. But—with difficulty—he refrained.

"Do you have a book for me?" he asked, his voice rumbling a little as he gestured toward the opened book on her lap.

She nodded and reached over to her nightstand to get him something to read.

"The Vikings by Else Roesdahl," he said, reading the cover of the book. He chuckled. "Light reading?"

She giggled, and any awkwardness in the room melted with the sound. "I like reading a lot of things, but one of my favorite subjects is history. You're lucky," she said, gesturing to the book.

His eyebrow waggled. "Just how am I lucky, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked half-playfully and half-suggestively.

She blushed. "Last week, I had something on the Aztecs, but this is better since you're probably—you know," she paused and smiled at him, "descended from Vikings. You sure look like it."

He laughed heartily, though Sookie caught some pain hiding at the edges of his eyes. She didn't ask about it.

"Probably," Eric replied, his smile fading. "My father hates it, but I favor my mother's side of the family, and—as I told you—they are from Sweden."

"But Northman seems like a Viking name. Is your father's family from Scandinavia too?" she asked.

Eric shrugged. "The first of my forebears in this country was named Erik Northman too, but it was spelled with a 'K.' That's the more traditional Scandinavian way, but that Erik was born in northern England. Of course, that doesn't mean he wasn't descended from Vikings. Still—my father doesn't like it that I," he paused, "look so much like my mother."

"Oh," Sookie sounded, not knowing what to say.

"And what about you?" he asked, changing the subject. "What are you reading?"

She grinned. "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I'd never read it before, and it seemed appropriate."

"Indeed," he grinned back. "Your résumé indicated that you were an English major. Did you specialize in something? You would have had to when you got your master's degree—right?"

She nodded. "I liked the British Early Modern period best."

"That's the Renaissance—right?" he asked.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Shakespeare?"

"Yes. But I love the other playwrights too. And the poets."

"Ah," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Beauty no other thing is, than a beam / Flash'd out between the middle and extreme."

"Markus Herrick," she said with a little surprise.

Eric chuckled, "I have a confession to make."

"What?"

"I'm not sure what that poem even means. In the boarding school I went to, we had to memorize a certain number of poems, and I never quite understood that one—maybe because it's too short or too straightforward."

"Well—they don't come much shorter than that one," she smiled.

"So—Miss Renaissance Scholar, what does it mean?"

"Hmmm," she said, crinkling her nose playfully. "I've got no idea," she lied.

He chuckled and settled against his side of the headboard, his book on his lap. He opened the volume to the introduction and began to read.

About five minutes later, he felt her head make contact with his shoulder, and he raised his arm and lowered himself into the bed a little so that she could more easily settle against his side.

"Is this—uh—okay?" she asked tentatively. Sookie seemed not to have realized that they had been touching until he moved, though she had initiated the contact. Eric felt her hesitation to lean fully into him.

"Yes. Very okay," he reassured before pressing a kiss to her forehead and gently pulling her closer until her head was resting almost directly over his heart. They both sighed at the contact and closeness.

"Thanks," she said softly.

His answer was just as soft, but came in the form of another kiss to her forehead.

Within moments, they'd resumed their reading and had relaxed into each other as if they'd been together ten years and not ten hours. After about thirty minutes, Sookie yawned.

"Are you ready to sleep?" Eric asked her.

"Yes. You?"

"Yes. I should set my phone alarm," Eric said, reaching for his cell phone. He put "his" book onto "his" nightstand before changing the settings on his alarm. When that was done, he turned off the lamp on "his" side.

Meanwhile, Sookie placed her book onto her nightstand. As soon as she flipped the switch turning off the lamp on her side, Eric noticed that several nightlights became illuminated in the power sockets around the room.

"Oh—I can take all those out," Sookie said, clearly a little embarrassed.

"They don't bother me," Eric assured. "I like seeing you; plus, I'm used to the lights of the city in my bedroom."

She smiled softly and turned to lie on her side so that her pose mirrored his.

His sharp eyes, quickly becoming accustomed to the dim light, studied her lovely face—just as her eyes studied his.

"May I give you a goodnight kiss now?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said a little breathlessly.

He leaned in, and she leaned in, and their lips met softly in the middle. The kiss was chaste and lingering, an exchange of breath as much as an exchange of touch.

"Good night, Sookie Stackhouse," he whispered as he leaned back to where he'd been before.

"Good night, Eric Northman."

Under the covers, their hands had already locked together.

Sookie woke up naturally at about 4:45 a.m., just as she always did.

However—immediately—she recognized that two things were different than usual. First, she'd slept through the entire night without waking. Generally, she woke up several times.

Second, she was much warmer than usual, and that was because a man was holding her against his body. Sookie couldn't prevent her smile. "Spooning!" she thought to herself. She was spooning! And to say that it was like heaven would have been an understatement.

She felt warm, but not just in temperature. She felt comfortable and cherished; actually, she felt "cozy," an adjective she'd never thought to use for herself before. She smiled a little wider.

Eric's long, lissome body was behind her, and she was curved into him. Their bodies fit together just as their hands and lips had—like puzzle pieces finally able to lock together with their mates to form a beautiful image. His arm was slung over her waist, his palm resting on her stomach. His face was buried in her hair, and he was snoring faintly.

She lay there and enjoyed the sensation of him all around her. He engulfed her with not only his body but also with his scent and the stir of his breath tickling her neck.

She sighed, realizing in that moment just how difficult it was going to be to tell him goodbye—no matter when she had to do it.

She closed her eyes tightly and placed her hand softly over his. Could she accept what Eric was offering: three years and eight months? She knew that he was promising her much more than he'd ever promised anyone else and more than he'd ever hoped for himself. Her initial response had been to ask why he would offer that to someone like her. But she pushed that question to the side. That "Why?" was for Eric to answer.

"I can practically hear your mind working," Eric whispered from behind her.

She was surprised that his voice didn't startle her. "You're awake," she said.

"Just," he answered groggily. "Is this okay?"

She felt the pressure of his hand on her stomach increase just a little. "Yes," she responded, pressing her own hand more firmly against his.

"Will you tell me what you were thinking?" he asked.

"You first?"

"I was wondering when we got like this."

She giggled. "I have no idea."

He inhaled deeply as if memorizing the moment with all of his senses. "I was also thinking about how I've never woken up with someone in my arms like this."

"Do you like it?" she asked tentatively.

"I do—very much—but it scares me."

"Claudine says that fear is natural—good even—as long as it's of a certain type."

"She's your therapist—right?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, not questioning how he knew that. "I started seeing her last December."

He turned his hand so that it interlocked with hers. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because," he started and then stopped for a moment. "Because I don't know everything about your life yet, but what I do know tells me that you've been hurt. And I," he paused, "don't want you to hurt."

"Claudine's nice," Sookie said after a moment of silence, "and she smiles more than I thought any human being could."

He chuckled. "Will you tell her about me?"

"She knows about you already. But yes. I'll tell her about yesterday—and today."

"What is the good kind of fear?" Eric asked as he placed a chaste kiss on her neck.

She gasped a little. "The kind that makes you run from someone who wants to hurt you. Or—the kind that makes you have butterflies. The kind that makes you anxious—but not paralyzed—when things are new and you don't want to mess them up."

"And the bad kind?"

"The kind that prevents you from trying something—doing something you want to do—because you're afraid. The kind that makes you," she paused, "shut out the world."

They were silent for a few minutes. Somehow both of them knew that they'd each been guilty of this last kind of fear—though for good reason.

"I have to get up in five minutes," he whispered sadly.

"Five minutes," she repeated, even more quietly.

"I have meetings until after 7:00 tonight," Eric said nervously. "Can I come back here after I'm done with them?"

She nodded and let herself sink further into him.

"Thank you," he whispered.


	23. Just the Basic Facts, Part 1

Chapter 23: Just the Basic Facts, Part 1

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Claudine Crane had listened without comment as Sookie had told her about the time she'd spent with Eric Northman since Sunday. The story she was telling was incredible in many ways—the stuff of fairy tales.

It was the story of a gorgeous, rich man who was the first to really "see" an insecure, introverted girl who had the potential to shine brighter than any sun.

It was the story of a prince—albeit one of New York high society—who seemed arrogant and cold on the outside. However, on the inside, he was sensitive and warm.

It was the story of a kindhearted, though "odd," girl undergoing a transformation from a "commoner" to a "princess"—at least symbolically.

It was the story of two hurting, young heroes who had been treated cruelly by their "evil" parents for all of their lives.

It was the tale of two people who—against all odds—had found a "magical" connection—maybe even what the stories would call "true love."

Yes. The story of Eric and Sookie contained many fairy tale motifs.

However, Claudine understood the pitfalls of fairy tales. Some didn't end well for the protagonists at all. Hell—even when there was a happy ending, there was much pain to be suffered along the way. And Eric Northman was not promising Sookie a "happily ever after"; on the contrary, he'd already made clear that such an ending would not be possible.

Thus, their tale would—inevitably—end in tears.

The therapist sighed as she looked at her client, who was busy writing down a list of pros and cons related to being with Eric Northman "in the present." In all honesty—since the case was unlike anything that Claudine had ever dealt with before—she wasn't sure how to advise Sookie. Therefore, Claudine was using the time as Sookie completed her list-writing exercise to gather her own thoughts.

Though Claudine—as a Brigant—and Eric—as a Northman—were both considered part of the social elite in New York, she didn't know him well at all. She was roughly the same age as Pam Northman and Nora Gainesborough, so she had met them many times—at functions designed for young, rich people. She was friendly with Pam, though she could take or leave Nora. However, Eric had always been away at boarding school as they were growing up. Of course, in recent years, he had become a part of Manhattan's social scene, but after college, Claudine had opted to back away from that lifestyle and now attended only a few Brigant-sponsored events each year. She had seen Eric at some of these functions, but she'd certainly not gotten to know him personally.

Therefore, most of what she knew about him had come from one of three sources, each of them skewed in its own way. The first was her cousin Bobby Burnham. The second was Sookie. And the third was the society pages of newspapers and local gossip programs.

Despite being a triplet, Claudine had always felt more kinship with her cousin Bobby than she had with her own siblings. Claudette and Claude were the ones who shared the "special bond" often present in those who had shared a womb. Of course, that fact was fascinating in and of itself, for Claude and Claudette were as unlike as two people could be. Claudette had taken after their parents and their grandfather Niall. She was savvy and successful in business and in science. With determination that Claudine greatly admired, Claudette was driving the family pharmaceutical company into the future at full throttle. But—then again—Claudette had always been an overachiever, and she thrived on difficult challenges.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Claude was an exotic dancer/interior designer/hair stylist/painter/whatever his mood dictated at the time. The moniker "free spirit" was the perfect way to describe him. In fact, the only profession Claude had kept for more than a month had been his dancing. And Claudine had to admit he was good at it. According to Claude, both male and female customers put exorbitant amounts of money into his G-string.

Claude had used part of his inheritance to buy a strip club, and he'd turned it into something classy—under Claudette's guidance, of course. As the owner, Claude didn't really have to dance, but he gave command performances when he felt like it, which was usually about once a week. However, at times, he would simply "check out," refusing to take care of the club when something else struck his fancy. In fact, the year before, he'd gone to Asia for six months without telling anyone he was going—except for Claudette, who got a call after he'd landed in Nepal. He'd apparently met a man the week before who was going on some kind of pilgrimage. Claude had returned a little thinner and with several tattoos on his body; he'd also become a Buddhist.

Claudine stifled a chuckle as she thought about how only her brother would think that Buddhism and stripping were complements.

Luckily, Claudette had stepped in—as always—to make sure Claude's business kept running smoothly in his absence.

Claudine was "the triplet in the middle"—as her grandfather Niall liked to say. And he'd given her that label for many more reasons than just the fact that she'd been born second. Although Claudine had not chosen to go into the family business, she'd always been driven in her own way—though she wasn't nearly as ambitious as Claudette. Claudine had become a successful therapist and was content with her life. Those things were enough for her, though she did hope to have a family of her own one day.

Bobby was similar to her in a lot of ways. He too was independent and stayed out of the social scene. Claudine had enjoyed getting to know him after he moved to New York to go to NYU. Before then, she'd seen him only sporadically at her grandfather Niall's estate. Now they met for drinks or a dinner once a week or so.

Claudine had first heard Eric Northman's name from Bobby's lips. She'd, of course, known of all the other Northmans; the members of prominent families in Manhattan tended to keep up with each other, and Claudine's mother was a big part of the social scene. But Claudine had not known that there was a Northman child older than Pam and Nora until Bobby told her about him seven years before, which was just a little before Eric moved to Manhattan and began working at NP.

Claudine had been surprised when Bobby told her that Eric had been his closest friend for years and that they'd known each other since Bobby was ten and Eric was six. After Eric moved to Manhattan, Claudine suggested that he join Bobby and her for drinks sometime so that she could meet him properly. However, according to Bobby, Eric was shy—a bit of a recluse even.

That assessment certainly did not gel with what Claudine had read in the society pages or with what she'd observed at the social gatherings where she'd seen him. He'd seemed like a playboy to her, and he had a different starlet or socialite on his arm at almost every event until recently—when he'd been photographed almost exclusively with Isabel Edgington. Whatever woman he was with, however, Eric Northman looked anything but shy and reclusive.

Claudine's third perspective of Eric had come from Sookie. Her opinion wasn't skewed in a normal sense, probably because the young woman herself was not "normal." However, Claudine couldn't quite reconcile Sookie's view of Eric with what she had observed of him herself.

When Sookie had first come to Claudine, she'd been suffering greatly due to the after-effects of many years of physical and mental abuse by her mother and—to a lesser extent—her brother. She'd also been traumatized by an ex-boyfriend, Bill Compton, who had demolished what little trust Sookie had left. Because of them, she'd built thick walls—shields—around herself. And—understandably—she'd tried to shut the world out.

Two months into her therapy, Sookie had told Claudine that until she was sixteen, she'd lived with physical pain, as well as mental torment, because of her hearing ailment. And even though Sookie's grandmother—Gran—had offered her "sanctuary" and had even helped the girl get medical treatment for her inner ear disease, that situation, too, had been problematic. Sookie's mother sending her away to live with someone else had been experienced as another rejection by Sookie—just another sign of her "freakishness," which had been a word Sookie would often use to describe herself during their earlier sessions.

To make matters more complicated, even Gran—the most positive influence Sookie had ever had—was not innocent. Like Sookie's father, Adele Stackhouse and her husband had not been around enough to see the signs of the abuse that was occurring in Sookie's childhood home. Sookie had justified that Gran wasn't there because she had lived in New Orleans and because there had been a falling out between her parents and grandparents, but in Claudine's mind, that excuse was flimsy. Corbett Stackhouse was even more culpable. He had recognized that something was wrong with Sookie, but he'd listened to Michelle's take on what that was, instead of questioning his wife and really opening his eyes to see what was happening to his own daughter.

Of course, Claudine did not criticize Corbett or Gran to Sookie. The young woman would initiate that criticism herself one day if she continued to progress in her recovery.

Claudine had quickly learned that Sookie's way of trying to heal herself was idiosyncratic. But it was also methodical and effective, and Claudine was often more of a facilitator than a therapist to Sookie. Sookie's mind was quick and creative, probably from years of processing so many visual signals all at once as she tried to "cover" and "make up for" her deafness. And—of course—through all of that, Sookie had needed to compartmentalize both her physical and mental torment.

Sookie had learned to survive through study—as much as anything else. She was well-read and would throw herself into a topic that intrigued her. In fact, Sookie was familiar with even more research than Claudine was when it came to unhealthy sexual relationships. Sookie had—in effect—diagnosed Bill Compton's dysfunction even before telling Claudine just how cold their relationship had been. Claudine had merely confirmed Sookie's deductive reasoning about Compton's Madonna-Whore complex. However, even beyond her reading, Sookie's main therapy was not the sessions she shared with Claudine every Tuesday. No—it was her trips to the MET. Sookie had the ability to connect herself with the art, and—through that experience—she was blossoming and opening herself up to the world more and more.

Her transformation was—in Claudine's professional opinion—a beautiful thing to behold. She'd seen other clients become "stuck" in their pasts, but Sookie had an innate sense of stubbornness that wouldn't allow for that.

Hell—if Claudine was being honest, she now saw her role in Sookie's life as more of a friend than therapist. However, Claudine was determined to continue to support Sookie in both of those capacities, and the experienced psychologist knew that Sookie needed the aid of their sessions to talk more freely than she'd be able to with a "friend." Therefore, Claudine was more than willing to keep the sessions going as long as Sookie needed.

The brunette sighed. After Sookie had "escaped" from Bon Temps, Bill Compton had entered her life as a very different kind of "prince" figure than Eric Northman. Though Sookie hadn't realized what he was doing at the time, Bill had relegated her to the damsel in distress figure, a powerless role he seemed all too happy to make permanent. To Claudine, Bill's obvious desire to stunt Sookie's developing confidence had been his worst sin—though that had not been all he'd done to her.

Still—Sookie had survived both Michelle Stackhouse's cruelty and Bill Compton's duplicity.

Even from her and Sookie's first official session, Claudine had been amazed by Sookie's ability to function as well as she did, given the trauma she'd faced. And the young woman was continuing to make new strides almost every week! She was learning how to operate in different kinds of friendships with Amelia, Holly, Luna, and Claudine herself.

Before coming to New York, Sookie had had very little experience with friendship. Though Sookie had used the word "friend" to describe Tara Thornton, Claudine would not call what she had with Tara a "friendship." As far as Claudine could tell, Tara was a rather weak individual, who had used Sookie and who had put conditions on their friendship in order to hide it from others. Though Claudine felt bad about Tara's own childhood predicament, which Sookie had explained in order to justify her "friend's actions, Claudine's sympathy lay with her own patient/friend.

Moreover, Sookie had undoubtedly experienced Tara's "friendship" as another kind of rejection. Hell—Tara had even participated in bullying Sookie at times! Moreover, when Sookie had stepped in to try to save Tara from facing abuse from a boyfriend, her reward had been more rejection. Even now, however, Sookie rationalized Tara's actions bullishly. Claudine couldn't help but to admire Sookie's loyalty, even if it was misplaced.

Therefore, Claudine had to consider the possibility that Sookie's loyalty was being misplaced in Eric Northman too.

Unquestionably, Lafayette Reynolds had been a better friend to Sookie than Tara had been, but his presence in her life had always been too sporadic to count him as a truly close friend to the young woman. He too was "different" from the "norm," and—apparently—Sookie had felt empathy from him. But other than a few exchanged emails a year, Sookie maintained no contact with him. However, Claudine had encouraged Sookie to call Lafayette several times during the last few months, and he was becoming a more consistent presence in her life.

Sookie had also made strides in forming casual relationships. She was able to carry on friendly exchanges of small talk with the guards at the MET and with people like Sam Merlotte. Clearly—the thought of having various kinds of conversations with people was becoming less troubling to her, and that was an encouraging sign to the therapist.

Claudine looked up to see that Sookie was still composing her list; the young woman's eyes were closed and she was lost in thought. Claudine glanced up at the clock and saw that their official session still had fifteen minutes.

The therapist had to admit that when Sookie had first told her about Eric Northman, she'd been wary of the man's potential effect on her—and the harm that someone like him could cause. However, there had been no real interaction between Eric and Sookie when her patient had first mentioned him, so her "crush" had seemed harmless enough. It was, after all, the kind of thing any "normal" straight woman might feel for an attractive man.

According to Sookie, she'd first seen Eric at the 2011 NP January party. He'd been "scanning," which had turned out to be the word Sookie used to describe how he studied the room. Sookie's instincts had told her that Eric was "scanning" in order to make sure he was safe. She'd talked about Eric's eyes and what she'd seen in them. However, Sookie had turned away before he was able to see her—well, except for her hair, apparently.

Sookie had left the party soon after that—in order to avoid the newest incarnation of bullies that the world had thrown at her. However, seeing Eric Northman at that party had lit something inside of Sookie; it had done something to the walls that she'd built up. Apparently, whatever she saw in his eyes had made Sookie think that he could see right through those walls. That was why she'd turned away from him them. But it was also why she couldn't stop thinking of him, despite the fact that she didn't exchange any contact with him for the next year.

Claudine sighed. No matter what Bobby had said about Eric, she had been skeptical when Sookie had told her that she felt like she could make a connection with the man who had just been chosen as "New York's most eligible bachelor"—for the fifth year in a row. Claudine feared that Sookie was setting herself up for certain rejection. Victims of abuse often did, after all. They sometimes unwittingly played into their abusers' hands by perpetuating their own pain even after the direct abuse had ended.

The cold, hard truth was that Eric Northman had not seemed like a good candidate for a relationship partner with Sookie—at least not on the surface.

However, after her first two visits with Sookie, Claudine had recognized that her patient had the ability to "see" others clearly and accurately even if she'd had very little interaction with them. So Claudine had not discouraged Sookie from making contact with Eric at the NP party in January 2012, even if it was just making eye contact with him. The therapist had made sure that Sookie didn't get her hopes up too high. In truth, Claudine wasn't expecting much to happen; however, if Sookie was right about having a connection with Eric, then the therapist had hoped that the two might become friends. At the time, Sookie had certainly needed a friend. There was no way that Claudine could have predicted what really did happen between Eric and Sookie when they met.

After their first two encounters in January, Claudine had felt conflicted about how to best advise her patient.

Undeniably, Sookie and Eric's first encounter had included a moment when the man had manhandled her. And generally, the psychologist counseled her patients—especially her female patients—to expect only an escalation when it came to physical abuse from their partners; however, the case with Eric Northman had seemed different.

From what Sookie had conveyed—and she was not one to hold back ugly truths—Eric had grasped her shoulders and even shaken her a little when she'd not responded to his questions about how she'd known of de Castro's spies. But his touch had barely bruised her; Claudine hadn't even been able to see the finger marks when Sookie came to her office three days later. And she had looked for them—very carefully, ready to call the police if Eric's assault demonstrated true violence. However, there had been nothing marring Sookie's skin.

More importantly, Sookie hadn't been scared of Eric—not at all. Her eyes had held neither denial nor fear. And Claudine knew that women almost invariably knew instinctively when they were in danger from their partners—even if they weren't ready to admit to that danger.

No. Sookie's trepidation in the elevator hadn't related to Eric. It had come from the memories he'd inadvertently triggered in Sookie—memories of her mother shaking her violently. According to Sookie, those vicious encounters had always left her badly bruised—so much so that she couldn't wear short-sleeved shirts for weeks after her mother's particularly "angry days." Michelle was also a fan of slapping her child, most often right over her ears—which had been a constant source of pain for Sookie anyway.

No. Claudine hadn't been concerned that Eric Northman would hurt Sookie physically. But she had been and was still worried that the girl would be hurt by him emotionally. It had taken Eric only a few words and two kisses to enrapture Sookie in January. And now, they were sleeping together—though, in their two nights sharing a bed, they'd not yet had sex.

Sookie had told Claudine about the expiration date that would come if she and Eric had a "relationship." And the therapist was worried that Sookie would be destroyed when Eric and she parted ways in three years and eight months—which was the timeframe Sookie had indicated was available for them. Frankly, Claudine was concerned that they wouldn't even make it that long.

What if Eric got bored with Sookie—as his reputation suggested he would? Or what if he succumbed to his family's pressure to marry someone they deemed appropriate before his deadline? If he did, he would steal away even the short amount of time he'd offered her.

Being from the "so-called" upper crust of society herself, Claudine understood well the pressures that would be brought to bear upon the eldest of the Northman children if he tried to defy Appius Northman, whom Claudine knew was a ruthless son of a bitch—for lack of a better description. Claudine laughed a little to herself because of the joke she'd inadvertently made. Indeed, Appius's mother Grace was a bitch—by all accounts—so calling Appius a "son of a bitch" was especially appropriate.

But that was another thing that concerned Claudine. Knowing what she knew about the upper echelon of New York society, she understood well that Sookie wasn't the "kind" of girl that would be welcomed into the Northman family folds. She wouldn't even be accepted as someone with whom Eric could have a dating relationship. In the eyes of the Northmans, Sookie might be seen as good enough for Eric to have a one-night stand with, but anything beyond that would be deemed as unacceptable.

Despite that fact, the therapist couldn't help but to wonder why Eric felt so trapped in his situation. Sookie had indicated to Claudine that he had some kind of contract with his father, and that contract included a clause that Eric marry someone that met with Appius's approval by the time he turned 35. Sookie didn't know all the details about the contract, however, and Claudine wondered why Eric didn't just quit NP and take control of his life. Surely, a man like him could find other work and another place to live. Then again, Claudine wondered what Appius might be holding over Eric's head. Men like Appius Northman covered their bases, so if he wanted Eric controlled, then he would certainly have a way to control him.

Thus, there was seemingly no way around the expiration date for Sookie and Eric. They had an end before a start.

Claudine sighed deeply. No. Their situation was definitely not a fairy tale with a happy ending; it was more like a Shakespearean tragedy—though hopefully without the deaths.

Still—Claudine couldn't deny certain truths about her patient. For her whole life, Sookie Stackhouse had been merely existing. She had experienced very little joy or happiness, and—even with all the strides she'd been making—everything was an effort for her, from the simplest conversation to the slowing down of her work so that she could better fit in at the office.

But Sookie's description of her time with Eric seemed very different. Clearly, it required very little effort on her part to relax with him. And—perhaps—that was the greatest tragedy of all. Both Eric and Sookie seemed to feel a profound connection with each other that had created trust and ease between them.

But no matter how perfect they were together, they would not be able to stay that way.

Yes. It was a goddamned tragedy.


	24. Just the Basic Facts, Part 2

Chapter 24: Just the Basic Facts, Part 2

Ostensibly working on some other patients' files, Claudine studied Sookie as inconspicuously as possible while the blonde continued to write her list of the pros and cons related to a relationship with Eric Northman.

The therapist smiled to herself. Undeniably, the woman before Claudine seemed happier than she'd ever been before—at least in Claudine's experience with her. And she seemed so sure of herself compared to the previous December—or even the previous week. It was—frankly—a joy for Claudine to see, especially considering what Sookie had been like when they'd first met—little more than a shell.

Claudine—unfortunately—had many patients who had suffered from abuse, both physical and mental. But she'd rarely encountered a story of a mother inflicting the level of emotional abuse onto her child as Michelle Stackhouse had done to Sookie.

Truly, Michelle Stackhouse was a monster, and though Michelle's mother, Sookie's grandmother Bonnie, shaped that monster, Claudine had seen many brave people—including Sookie herself—strive to overcome their pasts rather than to let themselves continue a cycle of abuse. However, Michelle didn't just continue the cycle; she embraced it.

By some miracle, Sookie had managed to "shield" a part of herself from Michelle Stackhouse. The girl had closed herself up—walled herself in—so that she could survive. Claudine had seen such defense mechanisms before—children insulating the essential parts of themselves in order to live through abuse. Of course, in hiding herself, Sookie had failed to develop in many ways, but she'd been working on that, and Claudine was extremely proud of the young woman's progress.

Claudine sighed. The hardest thing for Sookie to do had been to fight against her mother's voice in her head. Sookie had told Claudine that even when she'd been deaf, she'd heard that voice—even when Michelle's lips hadn't been moving. It was the sound of that harsh, cold voice—not the chirping of birds or the whisper of a breeze or the melody of beautiful music—that Sookie had remembered most throughout her deafness.

Unrelentingly, Michelle Stackhouse's voice had tried to convince Sookie that she was damaged and defective. That voice had attempted to persuade Sookie that she deserved her abuse. However, the incredible thing about Sookie was that she'd never fully believed Michelle's voice, and she had developed her "shields" to limit the efficacy of her mother's words—both the ones that she saw on Michelle's lips and the ones that she heard in her head.

However, her shields had also had a negative consequence: they had left Sookie numb for years.

When Sookie really opened up about her deafness, Claudine's heart had broken for her. At first, Claudine had assumed that Sookie had lived in total silence, but that had not been the nature of Sookie's condition at all. When she was four years old, Sookie's hearing problems began with pressure and buzzing in her ears, and over the next few years, those things slowly encroached upon any meaningful sound. Instead, the brutish noise got louder and louder in Sookie's head until there was nothing left but it. Claudine couldn't imagine it. Instead of living in silence, which may have carried with it a certain level of peace, Sookie had learned to cope with perpetual clamor.

Sookie had also learned to endure continuous pain. Her inner ear disease had brought swelling to Sookie's eardrums, which had caused her to have terrible headaches. And, of course, she'd never complained about them because she'd feared her mother's wrath. With no other choice, Sookie had been forced to build a tolerance to the pain.

In truth, Claudine was amazed that Sookie hadn't become as "crazy" as Michelle had labeled her to be. On the contrary, she had somehow managed to be a good student—despite pretending otherwise in order to avoid more of her mother's ire. Sookie had taken refuge in books, and concentrating on their words and ideas had helped to preserve her.

But—of course—during her childhood, there was really no "life" to Sookie. No "life" for her. She didn't remember laughing when she was a child, she didn't remember smiling, and she didn't remember playing. She hadn't known how to do those things.

Part of her still didn't.

Claudine had noticed—on the occasions when she'd been in social settings with Sookie—that her friend still had trouble doing those things that others found so simple. Her smiles didn't come easily, and when they did come, she often unconsciously covered them with her hand. Even when she'd gone out with the group to celebrate Amelia's birthday, Sookie would look almost apologetic when she laughed, though it had been clear that she was trying to have a good time. Claudine sighed sadly; even now, Sookie didn't know how to "play."

But that was no surprise. Sookie had had no time and very little opportunity for "play" as she'd grown up.

Claudine wrote down a few notes in her friend's file. With the never-ending buzzing in her ears as her childhood soundtrack, Sookie had learned to do two things to survive: she'd read books and she'd read people's faces.

She'd been afraid to do anything else—let alone give herself the freedom of "playing."

Living with her grandmother, Sookie's life had changed for the better—exponentially. She had finally been taken to see a doctor who could help her, and after two surgeries to repair Sookie's problem and the damage that it had caused, the girl could hear again. But—according to Sookie—the best part was that she could experience quiet.

Sookie had adapted to hearing again as well as someone in her situation could have been expected to, and in college, she'd found an existence that was comfortable to her. Not surprisingly, people found her odd, but—no longer forced to deny her intellect—she'd proven herself to be an excellent student, even though she hadn't yet been ready to be "social." Eventually, she'd even started a relationship—with Bill Compton.

From what Claudine had gathered, there had been a lot of dysfunction in Sookie's interactions with Bill from the start. However, there was no "overt" abuse, and—frankly—Sookie didn't have the experience to notice the passive kinds of mistreatment that Bill was guilty of. She'd been ignorant of his manipulation of her until she'd been told of his betrayal—by the worst source possible: Bill's mistress.

But after learning the truth, Sookie had proven her resilience once more. Despite having been decimated emotionally, she had chosen to strike out anew for a second time—to bravely come to a city known for its noise. She had found a good job. And—though it had taken her a while—she had found a few friends, though she was still learning how to be open and to enjoy herself with them.

However, it seemed that with Eric, Sookie didn't have to struggle to smile or to laugh or to play.

Claudine looked down at her notes. Perhaps, she ought not to be so hesitant in seeing Eric as a good partner for Sookie—even if he could only be a short-term one. Perhaps her own opinion of Eric was skewed too much by what she'd read about him in the newspapers. After all, gossip rags were not known as paragons of the truth. Perhaps her own eyes had been fooled by a persona that Eric adopted only in public.

And, perhaps, Eric was the only one with whom Sookie could be truly "free." But Claudine didn't know whether to be happy or sad about that thought.

Sookie had attempted to give another romance a chance a few months before when she'd gone out on two dates with Preston Pardloe. The best thing about Sookie's two interactions with Preston—at least in Claudine's opinion—was that she had opted not to go out with him a third time. Though it would have been easy for Sookie to fall into a relationship with the first man who'd asked her out in a very long time, she'd been discerning about him. There had been something about Preston that Sookie didn't trust; however, instead of "settling," she'd listened to her gut and had ended things, despite Preston's continued interest.

After Sookie's second date with Preston, Claudine and she had spent a whole therapy session talking about her dates with him. Claudine had been concerned that Sookie's continued interest in Eric might have prevented her from giving another man a chance. And—undeniably—Preston had seemed like a perfectly nice person when he'd first approached Sookie.

It turned out that Sookie had broken things off with Preston at least partly because of Eric—just not in the way Claudine had feared.

As she began to try to get to know Preston, Sookie sensed that he was presenting her with a façade, rather than his "true" self. Oh—Preston had seemed polite and kind. He had a good job and was intelligent. And he made no secret about the fact that he was interested in continuing to date her. But—in Sookie's words—there had been something "off about him."

As was still her habit, Sookie used her ability to read lips even while listening to Preston speak. According to Sookie, there were many truths that couldn't be "heard."

Claudine had been fascinated when Sookie had told her just how much information she could pick up from a twitch of the lips or a slight sneer or a flashed smile. Of course, in Claudine's studies, she had read books about microexpressions; after all, in her line of work, she needed every tool she could get when it came to testing the veracity of what her patients told her.

However, no matter how much Claudine had studied facial tics, Sookie was the true expert in using microexpressions to learn about people. She'd confessed that sometimes Bill's lips hadn't matched his words but that she'd ignored the twinges of mistrust she'd had about him. However—to her credit—Sookie had refused to do the same with Preston. So when his facial muscles twitched contempt when Sookie mentioned what she did for a living or when his lips rose into a sneer when he said that he was happy to take things slowly between them, she "listened" to something other than what she "heard."

Where Eric's influence had come into play was that Sookie had forced herself to pull her eyes from Preston's lips and to look into his eyes when he wasn't speaking. She'd never been able to do that with Bill—or anyone else for that matter. However, looking into Eric's eyes had come naturally to her during their encounters. And looking at him like that had given her the courage to look into the eyes of others.

An expert at noticing things that others didn't, Sookie soon saw flashes from Preston's orbs that confirmed her hesitancy about him: a slight leer when he looked at their waitress, an amused glint when a couple next to them was having a talk that made the woman cry, a hint of smugness and then guilt when he saw a man that he knew from work.

All in all, those miniscule moments had been enough to make Sookie lose her interest in Preston Pardloe, and Claudine couldn't blame her. If Sookie didn't trust Preston, then any future dates would have been pointless.

She did, however, trust Eric Northman. And it had been both his eyes and his lips that had compelled her to forge that trust so quickly. Sookie had explained to Claudine that in Eric's case, the flickers in his eyes and the pulses of his lips all matched his spoken words. In short, while she'd seen signs of deception in both Bill and Preston—deception that she'd learned not to ignore—she'd sensed nothing but truth from Eric.

But could Sookie's infatuation with Eric be dulling her usually unerring "reads" of people? Claudine couldn't be sure, but she highly doubted it.

And that meant that Eric's intentions toward Sookie were honorable—even if they were temporary. And—even if their relationship was fleeting—the therapist knew that it could be a blessing for both of them.

Claudine thought back to a young man she'd had as a client a few years before. He was very interested in establishing a relationship with a woman he'd met. However, the woman had cancer, and though she was getting treated, her prognosis wasn't promising. The young man was in agony over his choice. Should he pursue a relationship that had the potential to make him very happy? Or should he do the "safe" thing and protect his heart from loss?

Sorrow would follow one choice and regret the other.

In the end, he'd pursued the relationship, had seven wonderful months with the woman, and had been utterly desolated by her death. He was still one of Claudine's clients, and he continued to mourn the loss of the woman he'd loved. But he didn't regret his choice, and he was learning to move forward. During one of their sessions, the man had read her Tennyson's poem called "In Memoriam." The last two lines of that poem had become cliché—so familiar and recited that they'd lost their impact—but the man had clung to those lines and the rest of the poem for comfort all the same:

I envy not in any moods

The captive void of noble rage,

The linnet born within the cage,

That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes

His license in the field of time,

Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,

The heart that never plighted troth

But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;

Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

Claudine was not blind to the fact that Sookie's plight was both similar to and different from her other client's struggle. It was similar in that there was a pre-determined limit on the amount of time she'd have with Eric. However, it was different in that illness wouldn't be separating them; death wouldn't come between them. No—it was a contract between Eric and Appius Northman that would break them up. And—in some ways—the fact that it was a piece of paper and not an act of God that would rip them apart made things worse.

However, Claudine couldn't help but to believe the sentiments of Tennyson's poem: loss was preferable to regret.

Moreover, Claudine was beginning to think that the real loss would come if Sookie didn't pursue a relationship with Eric.

Undeniably, Eric Northman had already been good for Sookie. Claudine looked at the lilies on her desk; she'd received them from Charlie, her current boyfriend. She sighed as she studied the different stages of the flowers. Some were still unopened green buds, just waiting for their petals to release the beauty within. Others were mature blooms set free to showcase their inner beauty. Whether he'd intended to or not, Eric had helped Sookie to bud, and it would be a shame if that bud never truly blossomed.

Certainly, the bud was lovely too. And—invariably—once the blossom came, the life of the flower waned before the petals finally dropped away. But there was nothing more sad than the thought of a flower that never opened—that stayed forever frozen in that moment before it could show its true loveliness. And it wasn't as if the unopened bud wouldn't die too. It held onto its unfinished life longer than the bloom, but it still eventually fell to the ground all the same.

Claudine sighed. When Eric had approached Sookie for the first time in the museum, something he'd done had made her feel something she'd never felt before: special, wanted, and—most importantly—connected.

That connection hadn't dimmed after their first encounter in the museum. It had grown. And after their second meeting—just one day later—it had gained momentum. Despite evidence that indicated Sookie was in league with people bent on doing harm to his family's company, Eric hadn't revealed that Sookie was the source of the information about de Castro.

On the contrary, he had—seemingly—forgotten all about her.

In truth, however, he'd not forgotten at all. According to Sookie, Eric had been a subtle shadow in her life since their January encounters. Claudine's instinct was to warn any woman to be wary of stalker-like behavior, but—again—the situation was unlike any other the therapist had come across.

First of all, the surveillance on Sookie had been motivated by her telling Eric about de Castro's spies. And it made sense that a man in Eric's position would need to figure out if Sookie was involved in corporate spying. Clearly, his instincts had been to trust in Sookie. However, he'd kept watching her or having her watched even after he'd been certain of her innocence.

The previous night, Sookie had asked Eric to tell her everything about the surveillance, and he had seemingly been upfront about what he'd done and why he'd done it. He'd had Bobby—whom Sookie was surprised to learn was Claudine's cousin—follow her for the three weeks after the NP party.

Claudine had been both disturbed and comforted that it was Bobby who'd done it. She was disturbed that he did that kind of thing at all. Oh—she knew that her cousin had some "interesting" associates and did some "interesting" things for a living, but she didn't like to think of him lurking in shadows or being involved in potentially dangerous situations. However, she also knew that Bobby wouldn't participate in a situation that would put an innocent woman at risk—not even for his best friend.

After that initial surveillance, Eric had hired a man named Alcide Herveaux. According to Eric, Alcide had been installed into an apartment across the street from Sookie. From there, he'd watched over her—more than he'd watched her. It seemed that Eric had worried about Sookie being alone so often, so he'd paid Alcide to keep an eye on her from Friday nights to Sunday mornings—when Amelia was rarely at the house.

To tell the truth, Claudine had worried about Sookie too. The therapist knew Amelia very well, and her best friend could be counted on to spend most of her weekends in bed with one of a series of companions. Because of this, Claudine had started texting Sookie once or twice a weekend—mostly just to check in.

It seemed that Eric had had the same idea as she'd had; he'd just taken things a step or two—or ten—further.

Claudine made a few more notes. Once again, she contemplated whether Eric's Sunday "stalking" indicated any danger for Sookie. Claudine sighed as her instincts once more leaned toward believing in Eric.

The therapist intuited that Eric went to the MET looking for the same thing Sookie was—connection and healing. And she couldn't fault him for that. In fact, every new piece of information she got about Eric told her that he was just as wounded inside as Sookie was. Or maybe his situation was even worse. After all, Sookie's wounds had begun to heal now that she was out of the spheres of her mother and Compton. On the other hand, Eric's wounds were likely still being actively inflicted.

From what Sookie had told her, it was clear to Claudine that Sookie had affected Eric as much as he'd affected her. Eric Northman was not one who needed to make a Herculean effort to bed a woman; thus, his patience and efforts toward Sookie seemed sincere. The more she thought about it, the more Claudine was certain that Eric Northman wasn't out to use Sookie—or to hurt her.

Still, Claudine needed to make sure that her patient's eyes were wide open to the pain that would be coming her way if she became more entangled with Eric.

"Okay—I'm finished," Sookie said, looking at her two lists with a little triumph in her eyes.

The therapist smiled. "Excellent. Just put them in your purse and add things as you think of them, or cross things out if they no longer seem important."

"You—uh—don't want the lists?" Sookie asked. "You don't want me to read them?"

Claudine shook her head and looked at the clock. "Nope. Those lists are for you; plus, our time is up—that is—if you are still planning to eat with me tonight," she chuckled.

Sookie nodded. "Yeah. I already told Eric and you and I got dinner after our sessions, and I," she paused, "enjoy that time too much to miss it, though I miss Eric too."

Claudine smiled. "I enjoy our time hanging out too, but I would understand if you'd prefer to cancel dinner and spend time with Eric."

Sookie thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No. This way, I'll get to spend time with both of you."

Claudine looked at Sookie in question.

"I'm going to call him when I'm ready to leave the restaurant, and he'll meet me there with a taxi," Sookie informed.

Claudine nodded in understanding. "So he'll spend the night with you again?" she asked in a nonjudgmental tone.

Sookie smiled. "Yeah. I know it's probably too soon and I know that I probably should have decided before I invited him to spend the night the first time, but I like having him close."

"Every relationship is different," Claudine said thoughtfully. "There's no right or wrong way to them. And if spending the night with Eric is what your instincts tell you is right, then you should follow them."

Sookie nodded.

Claudine rose from her chair and collected her things, giving the flowers on her desk one last look.


	25. Q & A

Chapter 25: Q & A

Sookie and Claudine were just finishing up their dinner, during which they'd enjoyed their casual chat, just as much as their grilled salmon.

A few months before, the two women had begun sharing a meal after each Tuesday session. The bistro they were now sitting in had quickly become their favorite place to go. It was never overly crowded on weeknights, the prices were reasonable, and the food was a nice mixture of hearty and healthy.

Claudine took the last drink of the wine she'd ordered with her dinner. She understood well that a therapist was generally better off if he or she didn't develop a friendship with a patient. The psychiatrist with whom Claudine had interned always told her that she should "punt" her patients to another therapist if she ever "got attached." Claudine believed in the soundness of his advice, but she couldn't help herself with Sookie, and—frankly—she didn't want to either. There was just something about the blonde in front of her that tugged at Claudine's heart. It wasn't that she pitied her either. It was more like a connection that one might feel toward a family member, and Claudine was happy that their friendship was growing more and more with each passing week.

Claudine's phone chirped and she looked down at the message she'd been left by Charlie, whom she'd been dating for about three months. She smiled as she read the text.

"Good news?" Sookie asked before taking the last drink of her own wine.

"Yes—Charlie got us tickets for the symphony for our three-month anniversary," Claudine smiled.

"You like him," Sookie smiled back.

"Yes," Claudine confirmed. Whereas Claudette had married and divorced three times and Claude was always proclaiming that he would never settle down with anyone, Claudine was still looking for the right person to share her life with. Her relationship with Charlie had grown more serious during the last several weeks, and, though she wasn't sure he was Mr. Right, Claudine was hopeful that he might be.

"This one might even be a keeper," Claudine said with a wink.

"Well, from what you've told me, he sounds like a nice guy," Sookie observed.

"He is," Claudine smiled a little wider.

The waitress came around to ask the women if they wanted dessert. They both ordered a piece of cheesecake and a coffee as Sookie texted Eric to let him know to pick her up at the bistro in half an hour.

Once the dessert was delivered, Claudine asked her friend the question that had been nagging in the back of her mind since they'd left her office.

"Sookie," she gently nudged, "you were right earlier tonight when you said that you shouldn't question why Eric is interested in you. You were right to accept that his reasons are his own. And you are definitely right to trust that you are worthy of his affection. But—you also have to consider what happened to you before. Is there any possibility at all that Eric could be trying to use you for your ability—as Bill was?"

Sookie took a deep breath and considered Claudine's question. After all, it was a valid query and something she'd asked herself many times during the last several days.

Could Eric be wooing her in order to use her lip-reading ability? After all, it had already been of use to him once; it had helped him to know that de Castro had put spies into NP.

Even if he'd not known about her ability in January, he certainly knew now. And the truth was that he'd not approached her again until after he'd known.

Did he want to use her? Was he like Bill—even in the slightest?

Sookie sighed. Eric certainly didn't need her for sex—not by any stretch of the imagination. He had women who would line up for him—actresses and models, socialites and debutants, executives and CEOs. Hell—he probably had a fan club of nuns who cut out his pictures from Page Six!

And it wasn't like he needed her for a relationship either. Sookie figured that there were scores of women—women from the "proper class" no less—that would kill for someone like Eric.

Her mother's voice had crept into her head many times during the last several days—mostly when she'd not been with Eric. She could hear that voice stirring within her again: "Why would Eric Northman—or ANY man for that matter—want someone abnormal like you? You are NOTHING! That means that he must want you ONLY for what he can get from you. And then he will toss you away like the trash you are. And if you think he really cares about you, then you are as stupid as you are defective!"

Sookie took a few deep, steadying breaths as Claudine had taught her to do when she needed to banish her mother's voice from her thoughts. Claudine had trained Sookie to think of an acronym—R.E.D.—when the "ghost" of her mother tried to torment her. The first step was for Sookie to "Recognize" that she had control over her mother's voice. The second step was for her to "Eradicate" that voice like the vermin it was. The third step was to "re-Define" herself as the one who was in charge of her thoughts. Sookie took several more breaths. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's words as a rat trying to invade her, a sewer rat that could be expunged by a simple extermination. That image brought a little smile to her face.

When she opened her eyes again, Claudine was looking at her knowingly.

"Did you kill the vermin?" the therapist asked with a little smirk on her face. Sookie had told her weeks ago what image she thought of when she utilized the R.E.D. technique.

"Just call me the Orkin man," Sookie smirked back.

Claudine smiled at her patient. "Good."

Sookie nodded and returned to Claudine's question, this time with only her own thoughts rattling around in her head. Rationally, she knew that she had to consider whether Eric was trying to manipulate her. So—once more—she asked herself the difficult question: Had he approached her again because he wanted to use her lip-reading ability?

Because Michelle Stackhouse had viewed Sookie's lip-reading only as a sign of her so-called "defect," Sookie had never considered what a valuable skill it could be until she'd gotten an abrupt education—from a woman named Lorena Krasiki.

In many government agencies, a lip-reader was a highly sought-after commodity because—after all—secrets were highly sought-after commodities. Spies trained for a long time to accurately read lips. Heck—Lorena had told Sookie of a lip-reader who had infiltrated an organized crime syndicate in Philadelphia and who had eventually provided the authorities with the information they needed to bring the syndicate down. Other lip-readers had been involved in thwarting terrorist plots.

However, even the most talented lip-readers had their limitations, and that's what made Sookie so distinctive—so "singular." Her own ability was so deep-rooted in her that she was almost 100% accurate.

Of course, Lorena hadn't given Sookie this information so that she could see value in her skill. No—she had done it out of malice.

It had turned out that Bill was a "talent scout" for the FBI, and Lorena had greatly enjoyed telling Sookie that she was "just an assignment to Bill"—that he saw her only as a means to increasing his own value within the Bureau.

According to Lorena, Sookie's situation was "unique," which was why someone of "Bill's talents" had been sent in. Sookie had been reading lips since she was very young, and though a deaf person might be suspected of having the skill, Sookie was now a "fully functioning hearing person." At least that was the clinical way Bill had described her in the file that Lorena had shown her—a file which had contained over 150 pages of Bill's various "assessments" of her. Many of the words he'd written had frozen themselves into her brain.

The file had included Bill's appraisal of Sookie's potential to work for the agency he'd been sent by. He'd determined that she "showed great potential," though her "lack of social intelligence made substantial training and oversight necessary." He warned against "using a direct approach in securing her skills" because she was "too simple and meek to handle such a request as a normal person would."

He'd suggested that Sookie's introduction to the FBI be "subtle" so that she wouldn't become "skittish." And his idea to "procure Miss Stackhouse's talent by initiating a relationship with her" had been approved by his supervisor, someone named Nan Flanagan.

In his reports, Bill had also indicated that Sookie was the most skilled lip-reader he'd ever come across. He'd written about how he'd personally witnessed her "reading" people when there was only faint light. In fact, his first report, which had outlined the first time they'd met, talked about how she'd "read" the police after her attack even though they were thirty feet away and stood under dim street lights. He'd been even more "impressed" that she'd been able to "read" them under great distress.

Other reports he'd written delineated various tests he'd used to ascertain whether she could read him if he mumbled or barely moved his lips while speaking. During their first and only real date, he had set up other assessments—one to see if she could accurately report on things she'd "read" from the waitress who had mumbled out the restaurant's specials in French. Bill had been "pleased to testify" that even though Sookie didn't know French, she'd been able to tell him—with "proficiency"— the names of the various dishes the waitress had intentionally slurred.

He'd also set up scenarios to see if she could cover up her distress if she "read unpleasant things." One such experiment had been conducted when he'd accompanied her to Bon Temps. He'd paid some people in town to ridicule her because of her past deafness; of course, he'd put her into a position where she could "overhear" them.

Sookie remembered the words of those people very well. They'd been in her grade at school, and the things that they'd said had hurt her—had made her feel like she was a social pariah once more. Bill's report had indicated his "satisfaction" that her face could "remain perfectly neutral" even when she heard "hostile things."

He'd conducted another experiment while they had been in the middle of sex. Wanting to see if Sookie could concentrate "while occupied with another activity," he'd moved his lips to ask her to make him an apple pie the next night that he was over. He'd been "pleased to report" that an apple pie had been waiting for him at their "next appointment" even though he'd "never voiced" his request out loud.

Apparently, the only "reservation" that Bill had had about her involved her "various personality defects." However, in his report dated the week before Sookie had seen the file, Bill had indicated that if he "generated enough dependence in Sookie"—so that she "looked only to him for guidance"—then he was certain that she could be used by the agency as long as he functioned as her "handler."

Lorena had taken extra "care" to let Sookie know that being the handler of such a "fine asset" would "make Bill's career."

Sookie cringed at the memory of what she'd seen in that file; Bill's duplicity had almost crippled her psychologically, and that's why she had to carefully consider Claudine's question.

Did Eric want her to spy on his business adversaries—just as she'd inadvertently done with de Castro and Madden? Was he going to try to get her to fall in love with him—just as Bill had done—in order to manipulate her?

Yes. The questions were hard. But—in the end—the answers were easy.

"Eric's not like Bill," Sookie said after at least five minutes of silence had passed between her and Claudine. "With Eric, things feel different than they did with Bill. I don't know everything about Eric, but I do know that what he's said to me is the truth. And there's something," she paused, "good between us. I trust it—trust him."

Claudine sighed and nodded. "I don't think he's manipulating you either, Sookie, but I need you to promise to keep using your ability. Keep looking for microexpressions that he cannot hide. Keep using your lip-reading skill and don't ignore anything that seems off—as you did with Bill. Can you promise me that?"

Sookie nodded. "I have already promised myself the same thing, though I think Eric's eyes would give him away before anything else." She paused for a moment. "His eyes tell me everything I need to know about him. Claudine, I think that Eric," she paused again, "feels something strong for me."

Claudine reached out and took her friend's slightly shaking hand. "And I can tell that you already feel something strong for him too, Sookie."

Sookie spoke a bit wistfully. "It's strange. With Eric, I feel safe—like I can just be who I am. I feel like I can talk to him—like I can tell him things that I can't even tell you yet. And there's more to it. I feel like I want to tell him those things."

Claudine leaned forward a little. "That's good, Sookie," the therapist said truthfully. She understood just how rare it was—especially for a survivor of abuse—to find someone that he or she didn't want to "hide from."

Sookie smiled. "The best part is that Eric seems to feel the same things about me that I do for him. It's like he's counting on me—like he's trusting in me too. I never felt anything even remotely close to that from Bill. And now that I can look back objectively, I recognize that Bill hardly told me anything about himself—at least beyond the surface things. Sure—his job made him hide a lot, but he could have told me some true things that wouldn't have compromised his work."

"Yes. He could have," Claudine agreed.

Sookie inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Eric has opened up to me as much as I have to him so far. And—although I can't be one hundred percent sure—I don't believe he would have done that if he only wanted to use me for my skill." She paused. "I'm certain enough to want to bet my heart on him—on us," she finished in a whisper.

Claudine nodded. "Yes. It's clear to me that you want to be with Eric and that you trust him. But you also have to consider what he can give you—and what he can't. If the time he's offering you is not enough, then you have to let him go—and the sooner, the better—for both of your sakes."

Sookie said nothing but nodded in understanding.

Claudine leaned back and took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "Sookie if you begin a relationship with Eric, you can't let the time factor hang over your head—or his. You can't keep your eye constantly on the hourglass. If you do that, I fear that you'll both be miserable."

"I know," Sookie responded softly.

"You would have to live in the moment," Claudine said kindly. "And you'd have to try to help him to do the same. Could you do that?"

Sookie bit her lip a little. "I don't know."

Claudine sighed. "So that is what you will have to strive to find out then—before you can give Eric your answer."

Sookie nodded.

To give Sookie a moment to consider what she'd said, the therapist called the waitress over to refill their coffees. After she left, Claudine smiled at her friend warmly. "Sookie, I know that we are officially done with our session for today, but will you let me go back into doctor mode for a little while?"

Sookie chuckled. "Are you ever out of doctor mode?"

Claudine smiled a little wider. "I guess not—at least not fully, but I want to do a little exercise with you—if you'll let me. It'll only take a few minutes, and we can go back to the office if you want."

Sookie looked around. The restaurant was almost empty, and no one was paying any attention to Claudine and her. "Here is fine," she said.

Claudine smiled and reached out to pat Sookie's hand. "Okay. Let me repeat some of the things that you told me at the beginning of our session today," Claudine said. "And as I repeat each one, I want you to consider what your feelings are and why you have those feelings. I'll pause one minute after each question, and then I want you to try to put your feelings into words, but limit those words to a sentence or two—got it?"

"Okay," Sookie said tentatively, stirring some milk into her drink.

"Okay," Claudine smiled encouragingly. "Let's begin. Eric told you that he had been watching you at the museum. How did you feel when he told you about that?"

After a minute, Claudine gestured toward Sookie to speak.

"I didn't like it," Sookie answered honestly. "I don't like being watched when I don't know it."

Claudine nodded. "That feeling is understandable based on what you have told me about your past and about the times your mother made you face the corner of your room. But I want you to know that I wouldn't like being spied on either. Your reaction is quite normal." She paused. "Now, I want you to think about this question: Why did Eric watch you like that? And how does that make you feel?"

Again Sookie considered her response for a minute. "I think he watched because he was interested in me and wanted to get to know me, but he didn't know how. And I feel good and bad about that."

"How so?" Claudine asked. "And you can answer that right away."

"Well," Sookie smiled, "I admit that I like the idea of being the object of his interest, even though I wish he'd gone about it in a different way."

"Okay—that's the good. What about the bad?"

"I feel bad for him. On the outside, he seems to have everything. But on the inside," she paused.

"On the inside?" Claudine prompted.

"He's just as fucked up as I am," Sookie smiled ruefully.

Claudine chuckled at Sookie's choice of words, especially since Sookie didn't normally curse. However, the therapist quickly became serious again. "Sookie—you know that you cannot be the one who saves Eric—right?"

"I know," Sookie replied with a sigh, "just as I know that he can't fix me either. But if I can make him feel even a little better—just like he does for me—then maybe he'll feel safe enough to save himself. Maybe he'll find the strength in himself—just like he helps me to see the strength in myself."

Claudine smiled approvingly and patted Sookie's hand again. She often had clients who wanted "to fix" another or "to be fixed by" another. But that never worked—at least not for long—and it often led to codependence and the loss of self.

"Okay, Sookie. Just one more question that I want you to answer."

Sookie nodded.

"Eric has offered you honesty. He's offered you fidelity during your time together. But he isn't in the position to offer you a future in the traditional sense. Can you accept that?"

Again, Sookie took her minute in silence as she contemplated her answer.

"I don't know," Sookie responded after the time had elapsed.

Claudine nodded. "Alright. In that case, I have a task for you to do."

"A task?"

"Yes," the therapist said. "I want you to think about four different scenarios. I want you to ponder each one very carefully. And when you are done, I think you will know how to answer the question I just asked."

"Okay."

"Good. In each of these scenarios, I want you to imagine that it is four years from now, which would mean that Eric will be married—to someone else."

A tear immediately rose to Sookie's eye, but she brushed it away and nodded.

Claudine took her friend's hand. "I know this will be hard."

Sookie nodded again. "But I'll do it."

Claudine smiled at her friend. "I know you will." She took a deep breath. "First, I want you to imagine the best thing that could happen if you chose to pursue a relationship with Eric—in other words, the best case scenario. Second, I want you to imagine the worst thing that could happen if you chose Eric—the worst case scenario. Third, I want you to imagine the best thing that could happen if you didn't choose him. And—finally—I want you to imagine the worst thing that could happen if you didn't choose him."

"Okay," Sookie said, determination and trepidation mixing in her eyes.

"You'll find your answers, Sookie," Claudine said confidently. "And when you do, I know that they will be the right ones."

Sookie closed her eyes for a moment. "I know that too."

Ten minutes later, Claudine was waiting with Sookie outside the bistro; she saw her friend's face light up as soon as a taxi pulled over to the curb. Eric Northman got out of that vehicle. He was wearing a navy T-shirt and jeans, and his hair was unstyled as if he'd recently showered. He looked nothing like he did in Page Six photographs or at parties.

A soft, happy smile lifted his lips and crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he leaned down to kiss Sookie's forehead. Claudine couldn't help but to notice the way Sookie sighed and leaned into that kiss. She also couldn't help but to see the way his left hand had already taken her right.

"Eric, this is Claudine Crane," Sookie said smiling up at him. "She wanted to meet you."

Eric's ease changed momentarily to uncertainty before his face became more neutral again. He held out his right hand for Claudine to take, offering her a smile that was a little less enthusiastic than the one he'd given Sookie, but still genuine. "It's nice to meet you. Sookie has spoken of you quite a bit," he said.

Claudine nodded, but refrained from telling him that Sookie had also spoken about him. "It's nice to meet you," the therapist said sincerely. "My cousin Bobby speaks highly of you."

Eric nodded in acknowledgement.

Claudine leaned in and gave Sookie a one-arm hug since she didn't seem like she'd be giving up Eric's hand anytime soon. "Well—Charlie's waiting for me, so I'd better get going."

"Can we drop you somewhere?" Eric asked, gesturing toward the taxi.

"Do you mind?" Claudine asked, happy for the opportunity for observe the couple for a few more minutes. "I'm just in Gramercy."

"No problem," Eric said, leading them both to the taxi.

Since Claudine would be the first to be dropped off, Eric got in first. Once Sookie was settled into the middle of the seat, their hands seemed to fly back together. Claudine smiled a little as she got in after Sookie and relayed her address to the driver.

Claudine's house was a little more than ten minutes away, and along the way, the conversation was light between the three. Claudine and Eric both shared short anecdotes about Bobby's propensity for choosing crappy places to live, and Sookie giggled throughout Claudine's story about Bobby once living in a loft that had a hole in the wall. Eric added that Bobby had made that hole bigger so that he could more easily "visit" his next door neighbor, who happened to be a beautiful aspiring actress.

By the time Claudine was dropped off at her home, she knew one thing for certain: Eric Northman and Sookie Stackhouse were very much in love. And—for once—the pragmatic therapist prayed against logic and reality; she prayed for Eric and Sookie's tale to find its way to a happy ending. She prayed for just a little bit of magic.


	26. Where to Pray

Chapter 26: Where to Pray

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Eric marveled that he could "feel" that Sookie was near, despite the fact that he had his back to her and they were perusing different sections of Gallery 455, which was a large L-shaped room. Feeling the pull of her eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder; sure enough, she was looking back at him—or, at least, at a part of him. Her eyes immediately moved from his ass to his eyes.

He winked. She blushed. And then they went back to their explorations of the gallery. They'd repeated that little "dance" many times since they'd entered Gallery 455, though—more often than not—she would be the one to catch him watching her.

Despite the room's shape, Eric made sure he could always see Sookie, his body instinctively gravitating toward where it needed to be so that they could share a look every once in a while. His ears trained themselves to the light touches of her sandals against the wooden floors as she moved slowly from one exhibit to the next. The sound comforted Eric—made him feel connected to her.

And—for his part—he made sure to step a little more heavily than he usually did as he moved. Eric wanted to make sure she could hear him when he moved. Somehow, he knew that it would help her to feel at ease.

Sookie had told him that there were some low-pitched sounds that she still had a hard time hearing, though she picked up most tones pretty well. By the time Sookie's grandmother took her to a specialist, it had been too late to repair all the damage her inner ear disease had caused.

Eric sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He couldn't fathom the physical pain and suffering Sookie had endured, though he was acutely aware of the kind of mental torment a parent could cause. Sookie hadn't yet told him everything about Michelle Stackhouse, but Eric already knew that he hated the woman. He had never been violent; he'd never even hit anyone before, but his instincts made him want to strike out at the woman who had caused Sookie so much pain. His fists and he jaw clenched, but he took a slow, deep breath and tried to relax. He knew firsthand that anger over the past would do no one any good.

As he opened his eyes, they were met by an intricately-spun silk carpet hanging on one of the gallery's walls. Eric let the beauty of the piece finish calming him down. He hadn't known much about Islamic art before he entered the gallery that morning, though the room that Sookie and he were in housed what he would call artifacts more than art. Most of the pieces were beautifully constructed, but there was a practicality to them as well, and they provided a glimpse of the color-filled culture they belonged to.

Originating from the 1200s to the 1500s, the pieces in Gallery 455 consisted mostly of finely crafted tiles and painted folios from books. There were also some beautifully made dishes and jars and ewers, as well as a bit of jewelry. By far, the largest piece in the room was something called a Mihrab, which was a prayer niche. Eric moved the few feet he needed to in order to be in front of that piece again. And—again—he was struck by it.

The Mihrab was composed of a mosaic of cut ceramic tiles in various shades of blue, turquoise, brown, and cream. In addition to patterns, the tiles also formed into calligraphy. The large structure curved inward, obviously constructed to make a space for a person who wanted to kneel and pray.

Eric had always been interested in architecture; in fact, when—as an eleven-year-old—he'd been asked by his morfar what work he might like to do when he grew up, being an architect had been his first thought. Of course, his father would have never agreed to Eric's being an architect. In fact, by then, Appius had already outlined not only Eric's academic path, but also his career path. And—even at that young of an age—Eric knew that questioning his father's wishes would have led to punishment. Appius's favorite threat was to tell Eric that he'd no longer be allowed to see his grandparents in Sweden or his siblings at all if he didn't "behave appropriately." And Eric couldn't risk losing those things, so he complied with Appius's decrees to the letter.

However, Appius couldn't stop Eric from being interested in the way things were built. He lifted his hand toward a particularly beautiful tile that captured the darkened shade of Sookie's eyes right after he kissed her. Though he wanted to see if the tile was as smooth as his mind imagined and though he wanted to trace the connections between the tiles so that he could understand the construction of the piece better, he obeyed the sign on the wall and didn't touch the Mihrab.

In truth, his hands had wanted to touch every tile in the room, and he'd loved learning about the various structures that the intricately fashioned textiles had helped to create. Meanwhile, Sookie had spent more of her time in Gallery 455 perusing the pages from various folios.

Eric smiled. It seemed that the gallery had been designed specifically with them in mind, considering Sookie's love of books and his love of the construction of things. He smiled a little wider. For once, he was certain that they would be choosing very different pieces for their favorites, which was ironic, given the fact that it was the first time that they were exploring a gallery together.

Eric glanced at a particularly loud group of people that were passing through the gallery, barely pausing to look at anything. Many people had filtered in and out of the room as he and Sookie had studied each piece closely. Or—in Sookie's case—she had studied every item except for the Mihrab, though it was clearly the showcase piece that had drawn most of the other museum visitors into Gallery 455. By contrast, Sookie had walked past the piece—several times—without giving it much of a look at all.

As Eric looked back at the breathtaking Mihrab, he couldn't help but to wonder why Sookie seemed to be avoiding it. However, he decided not to ask as he glanced over at her; she was beautiful in that moment, and he couldn't bring himself to do anything to spoil her obvious pleasure. She was hovering over a display case full of pages from folios, and her lips were pulled up into a contented smile.

Eric found himself smiling as well. Sookie was obviously enthralled by the various pages from the Shahnama, or the Book of Kings. He sighed as he took her in before turning back to the colored tiles of the Mihrab. As he studied the patterns, his mind wandered.

He'd had a good week—the best week of his life, actually. Except for the times when he and Sookie had to work and the evening that Sookie had spent with Claudine, he'd spent his time in Brooklyn. And each night, he'd slept soundly in Sookie's bed, holding her close.

And sound sleep—peaceful sleep—was not something he'd been used to.

From Wednesday to Friday, his meetings had kept him at Northman Publishing until 6:00 or 7:00 p.m., and then he would make a quick run to his house in order to grab clothes for the next day since he never presumed that he'd be able to spend more than one night at a time with her.

Every morning, he would ask if he could return that night—just as nervous as he'd been the first time he'd asked. And she would say, "Yes."

He was always surprised—always grateful.

Pam was engrossed in a new paramour, so she was yet to notice that he hadn't been around. Despite the fact that they lived in the same building, they didn't hang out together too often. She was what one would call "social," using her house mostly as a closet. He used his home as a sanctuary.

In truth, Eric was still learning how to have a relationship with his sister; he didn't want to risk becoming burdensome to her. They'd grab dinner or a drink together once or twice a week—if Pam wasn't otherwise occupied, that is. Eric knew that Pam would think nothing of it if she stopped by and he was out. But—just to be safe—he'd asked the guards in his building, who also functioned as doormen, not to mention his comings and goings to Pam. Given the fact that they liked him a heck of a lot more than his often snarky sister, they were happy to help out.

For a week, Sookie and he had been in a bubble of sorts—a simple domestic space that was better than any paradise he'd ever imagined for himself. When he arrived at her home after work, they would have dinner, feasting on recipes that Sookie's grandmother—Gran—had taught her. And—for the first time in his life—Eric now understood the concept of "comfort food."

Some nights after dinner, they had curled up together and watched television or a movie. On other nights—when he had needed to complete some work—Sookie would read or do research for a book that she one day wanted to write about diary writing in Early Modern England. Eric had found out that Sookie's initial plan had been to pursue her doctorate degree in English literature after she finished her master's degree. And—though she was currently not interested in returning to school—she hadn't dropped the project she had intended to focus on for her PhD.

Eric had wanted to ask her why her plans had abruptly changed while she was in the middle of getting her master's degree. After all, he wanted to find out everything about her. But he hadn't asked. He sensed that Sookie was the kind of person who would speak about something when she was ready. And since Eric was the same way, he couldn't begrudge her going at her own pace. He could already tell that she was sharing more of herself than she'd ever done before—just as he was doing.

The day before had been the best day of the week and—without a doubt—the best day of his life. Sookie and he had slept in, waking up at around 5:00 a.m. and then deciding to go back to sleep. He couldn't remember a time when he'd done that, and when they'd awoken again at 9:00 a.m., he'd felt truly and exquisitely rested.

After they'd risen, she'd started some oatmeal as he'd put the coffee on and gotten the newspaper for them. They'd shared their first sit-down breakfast and had exchanged parts of the newspaper in the sunlight of Amelia's back patio area.

After they'd cleaned up the kitchen together, they'd done Sookie's grocery shopping for the week. And after bringing the food back to Sookie's, they'd walked hand-in-hand to the library, where he'd gotten his first public library card. With it, he checked out another book on Vikings since he'd finished the one Sookie had already had. He'd also picked up a couple of classic science fiction novels that he'd heard of, but had never had a chance to read.

They'd gotten back to Sookie's house at about 12:30, and they'd quickly made sandwiches for lunch before curling up in bed to read for a while. Sookie had fallen asleep after about twenty minutes, and the feeling of her even breaths against his body had made him stop reading and just enjoy the sensation of her resting against him.

After she'd woken up, they took turns showering, and then she put him to work chopping vegetables. He cut up potatoes and carrots, while she chopped about ten ingredients for the soup she was making for them. After that, he pulled parsley leaves from the stems. That task had taken him quite a while, but—in the end—he had the half cup she wanted of the fragrant herb. While he'd been doing that task, Sookie had mixed up some batter for cornbread and put it in the oven to bake.

Luckily, Sookie didn't mind his slow speed at completing the jobs she'd given him, and they chatted easily about Gran, Pam, Amelia, Holly, Bobby, and even Isabel. Over the week, he'd learned quite a bit about Sookie's mother, and he'd also told her some things about his father, but they had kept their Saturday conversation light.

As the soup simmered during the late afternoon and early evening, they played Scrabble and Chess, which were the only two games Amelia owned. Neither of them had played either of the games before, so they took their time reading the directions. As expected, Sookie took to Scrabble instantly and dominated Eric in their game. Eric won their Chess match, however.

They had smiled their way through both games. Eric couldn't help but to wonder if they'd ever get to play them again as he helped her put them away, but he didn't let himself dwell on the sad thought that his time with her might be limited to only one week.

After all, it was his fault that the specter of time overshadowed them in the first place.

Instead, he'd let himself live in the moment—to enjoy the perfect day.

As they'd cleaned up the dishes after their dinner, Gran and Pam had called almost simultaneously.

Finding that he wasn't at home, Pam had wanted to meet Eric for drinks—ostensibly to discuss their upcoming trip to Sweden. When Eric said that he had other plans, her real reason for wanting to get together was revealed. The model that she had been dating had gone to Paris for the weekend, so she was bored. Eric promised Pam a lunch on Monday and then hung up before she started begging him to cancel his current plans.

Sookie's phone call had taken longer and was clearly emotional for her, but—despite his impulse to go to her and hold her through whatever was upsetting her—he'd given her space and had gotten a little work done. When Sookie got off the phone with Gran, she told him that her cousin Hadley was back in the hospital.

The Monday before—during Gran's usual weekly call to Sookie—she'd told her granddaughter that Hadley had contacted her and that she'd gone to New Orleans to see her long-missing grandchild.

Sadly, Hadley had AIDS, likely gotten through sharing needles when she was addicted to drugs. Hadley was also almost eight months pregnant with a son that she planned to name Hunter. The week before, Hadley had gone into false labor, and since she was high-risk and her doctors wanted her to deliver by cesarean section to limit the chances that she'd pass the HIV virus to her child, she'd spent a few days in the hospital. While there, she'd finally called Gran to let her know that she was alive and that she would soon have a great-grandchild.

Scared into sobriety when she realized she was pregnant, Hadley had succeeded in breaking her addictions to alcohol and drugs seven months before, only to find out—after her first appointment with her OBGYN—that she had AIDS. Gran had told Sookie that the child's father, Remy Savoy, had also tested positive for HIV, but he hadn't developed AIDS and his viral load was being kept down with a cocktail of drugs that he was taking.

Hadley wasn't as lucky. She had refused to have an abortion and had carried her child as safely as she could, though doing so had prevented her from taking some of the more potent experimental drugs that might have helped to lower her own viral load.

Gran had called the day before from a hospital in New Orleans where Hunter had just been born. Thankfully, a blood test had shown that the infant didn't have the HIV virus; however, the doctors had put him on AZT out of caution. According to Gran, the caesarean delivery had taken a lot out of the already weak Hadley. Sadly, Hadley's doctors weren't sure that the woman would rebound. Gran had also reported that Hadley and Remy were planning to marry and that Remy seemed like a good man. He had been off of drugs and alcohol for as long as Hadley had been, and he now had a good job. Gran had hope that Remy would be a good father and husband.

As Sookie had told Eric about the phone call, he had been able to discern that something else regarding Hadley was bothering Sookie, but—once again—he'd not pushed her to speak of it. And they'd quickly settled back into the comfortable rhythm that had defined the rest of their Saturday.

Instead of staying in for the night, they'd gone out to a movie. It had been the first time either of them had ever been to the cinema for a date. When they'd returned to her home, they'd cuddled in bed and kissed—a lot—though Eric had been careful to keep his hands from wandering.

With great difficultly, Eric wasn't pushing things with Sookie on a physical level. He was letting her take the lead, but he also wasn't denying anything she initiated either. He was sure that he'd never kissed a woman as much as he'd kissed Sookie during their week together. However, kissing her—or just holding her, for that matter—had been more satisfying than any sex he'd ever had. Of course, his cock was currently rebelling since the only relief he'd given it had been with his own hand in the shower. Sadly, the releases he had while imagining having sex with Sookie didn't truly satisfy either him or his dick. But at least they took the edge off for a little while.

It wasn't that Eric was complaining. The wonderful intimacy that he'd experienced with Sookie over their week together had been enough to make him more content than he'd ever been.

He sighed as he thought about the end of the previous night. As had become their custom during their week together, they'd fallen asleep with Eric spooning Sookie. It had been the perfect way to end the day.

Yet Sookie had had a nightmare in the early morning hours. He'd awoken immediately as she was thrashing and crying in her sleep. He'd felt the instantaneous urge to protect her, and he'd turned her to face him and had held her close to his chest, his lips whispering assurances into her hair until she finally fell back into a restful sleep.

He'd stayed awake after that, his hands softly stroking her hair and her back—soothing her in her sleep and himself in his wakefulness. She'd had no other nightmares.

Sookie had woken up with a smile on her face, her head lying near his heart. She'd felt perfect there.

She didn't seem to remember her nightmare, which Eric was thankful for. After they'd both showered, they'd left hand-in-hand for the subway station and had enjoyed coffee and a pastry on the MET's steps. Their conversation had been easy, and Eric had felt lighter than he ever had.

However, as soon as they'd gotten to Gallery 455, apprehension had begun to invade Eric in small waves. Today was the day that Sookie had initially told him that she would decide whether she wanted to be with him. And—although he'd insisted that she not give herself a deadline for making her choice—she'd told him that she would try to have her choice by then. Thus, he couldn't help but to wonder if she had made it yet.

He was too afraid to ask her; he didn't want to miss even a minute of time with her if she made the smart choice and cut him loose.

He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

He wished that he could offer Sookie more than three years and eight months of his life. More than anything, he wanted to give her a home and children—the family from the painting two weeks before. But those things were not in his power to give.

All he could offer was his whole heart, and that she already had—not that it was worth much.

No matter how many times he asked the question, "What if," he had to be realistic about the answer. To protect the people he cared about, he had to do as his father required and fulfill the terms of their contract. It wasn't even so much about becoming the CEO of Northman Publishing either, though that was something that Eric had eventually come to want for himself.

No. If it were just that—just a job or the money that came with it—he would have left New York and Appius behind years before. But it wasn't just his own future that he had to consider.

He sighed. Since he'd first laid eyes on Sookie Stackhouse, he'd considered every possible scenario that might break Appius's control over him—but he knew that his father would wield all of his terrible power to punish Eric if he broke the contract. And that punishment would entail crushing anyone and anything that Eric cared about—including the woman who now owned his heart and his soul.

Eric couldn't risk that; his own happiness wasn't worth it. Sookie's happiness was, however, and it killed Eric that he couldn't see a way to ensure it. The contract allowed for only one "escape clause," but even that would lead to 104 people being hurt. Eric had counted and recounted them many times since January, spending long, sleepless nights trying to figure out what he could do to protect everyone and still have Sookie.

In his darkest hours, he'd even prayed for his father's death.

But not even that would free Eric; Appius had made sure of that. Eric closed his eyes, once more feeling his "imprisonment" stealing his breath away. He reminded himself that he was lucky to have a little bit of freedom and a little bit of time with Sookie. But he would only be able to enjoy those things if Appius didn't find out about her. The one thing that Appius would never tolerate was Eric's happiness, and Sookie would be the one to suffer for it.

Eric didn't see any options or escape routes. He had to keep Sookie a secret from Appius if he wanted to have even three years and eight months with her. And then he had to fulfill the terms of the contract to the letter so that 104 others wouldn't suffer.

Only two would suffer. And the only suffering he cared about was hers. Once more, his own selfishness tore at his heart. How could he do this to her?

How could he be such a monster?

His only redeemable action had been telling Sookie upfront how much time he could be with her—and that was of little consolation. But—at least—she'd be able to choose with her eyes wide open.

Looking at Sookie, Eric knew that—if she decided to be with him, if they were together for 4.8% of his life as he selfishly wanted them to be—saying goodbye to her would be the most difficult thing that he'd ever do. Of course, saying goodbye to her was going to break him no matter when it happened.

To be honest, Eric had always tried to avoid love—even with his mormor and morfar and Pam—and had begun to wonder if he was capable of really loving someone. But—already—what he felt for Sookie was either love or it was something close to it. He was scared to love her—frightened of the way his love caused pain to others.

At this point, he was frightened of her saying yes and frightened of her saying no.

He looked back at the Mihrab.

If she said no, then this day could very well be their last day together.

If she said yes, then he would have to bear knowing that he would be responsible for her pain when their expiration date arrived.

The prayer niche seemed to call to him. But he didn't know what to pray for. Should he pray to have her? Should he pray for her to run? Or should he thank God that she was even considering being with him?

For the thousandth time, he thought about how it would have been better for her if he'd never approached her. And—again—he cursed his selfishness.

"Hey," she said, her hand slipping into his from behind—pulling him from the vortex of his thoughts.

He turned to face her. "Hey," he said trying to hide the melancholy that had overwhelmed him.

"You okay?" she asked perceptively, her fingers threading through his.

He didn't answer. Instead he kissed her forehead.

"Eric?" she asked, her eyes brimming with concern.

Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him a reprieve from responding to her question. As he glanced at the number, he sighed with relief and then answered.

"Hello Ben," he said into the receiver and turned to nod toward one of the cameras that he had noticed in the room. Sookie squeezed his hand before releasing it and going back over to the manuscripts she'd been looking at.

"Hey Eric," Ben said. "We just wanted to say thanks for the sandwiches that you had delivered."

"No problem," Eric said as he nodded again toward the camera.

"So?" Ben asked. "How are things going in there? I've had to practically beat Doris and Tony with a stick to keep them from watching you two all day. And now that Milos is in here on his break, it's even worse!"

Eric chuckled. "It's going well." He looked over at Sookie and noticed that she was looking back at him, a little blush glowing on her cheeks. "It's going very well."

"Good," Ben said sincerely. "It's nice to see you two in the same room, Eric," he added softly, probably so the others couldn't hear.

Eric couldn't help but to smile as he looked at Sookie smiling at him, and his dark mood lifted for the moment.

"Ben, Sookie would like to meet you all—the Sunday crew. Can I bring her by before we take off for lunch?"

"I assume you don't want her to know about the betting," Ben observed astutely.

"No, I don't," Eric answered. Whether he and Sookie were together or not, he wanted to ensure that she felt comfortable and safe in the museum that she loved so much. He just hoped that the others would be able to play along without letting it slip that Sookie was a common topic of conversation for them on Sundays. Eric knew that the crew didn't mean her any harm. And it wasn't as if they watched Sookie more than anyone else; if anything, they watched her less because they knew she wasn't going to harm the art. They just kept an eye on her because they "liked" her.

"Sure, bring her whenever you're ready," Ben said. "I'll make sure the others know the score."

"Thanks," Eric said sincerely before hanging up. He winked at Sookie before they both turned back to their explorations of the gallery.


	27. Selfish

Chapter 27: Selfish

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.—Lao Tzu

Sookie POV

The humidity was high in Central Park that day, but Sookie wasn't really bothered by the saturated, warm air. After all, she'd grown up in Louisiana, which tended to be a lot more humid than New York. Gran called it "sticky."

What was bothering her was Eric. Since that morning in the gallery—when she'd seen him looking at the prayer niche as if it were the saddest thing he'd ever seen—the light in his eyes had been dimming, though he was doing his best to hide his melancholy from her.

His apparent anguish had made her own dislike for the large Mihrab grow, giving her another reason to avoid the artifact.

Sookie closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, banishing the memories that the Mihrab had brought forth in her. Instead, she focused on what had happened since Eric and she had left Gallery 455.

Instead of walking to the Turtle Pond for their lunch, Eric had wanted to show her an old cast iron bridge—simply called Bridge No. 24. He'd pointed out where the structure had been damaged by a vehicle. The repairs to the bridge had been completed only the previous month, and Eric had talked animatedly about them, as well as about the original construction of the bridge. But Sookie had intuited that his enthusiasm for the item—though real—was a cover for his gloominess.

Once they'd settled down for a picnic on the Great Lawn, Eric had become quiet—pensive even—as they ate the sandwiches he'd gotten for them. Their food had been delivered with the order for Ben's team, and Ben had lent them one of the many quilted blankets that the museum had; it turned out that blankets were pretty much the best forms of protection when it came to moving and preserving paintings.

Sookie smiled a little when she thought about the fact that Eric still wanted to feed the "Sunday crew." He actually spoke of Ben and the others at the museum almost like family. He certainly seemed to have more affection for them than he did for his own father—though he clearly cared a lot for his siblings.

Sookie had very much enjoyed meeting the crew of workers that monitored the museum's cameras on Sundays. To be honest, she'd never much thought about the fact that she was likely being watched while she was at the museum, but she was proud of herself when she realized she was okay with the fact that there were cameras all over the place. Ben and his crew had all seemed nice, and—in a strange way—she was comforted to know that they were there all the time. She somehow knew that they would watch over her because they seemed to care for Eric as much as he cared for them.

Yes—Sookie was coming to learn that the feeling of being watched over was quite different from the feeling of being watched.

However, as she watched over Eric now, she could see the tension clouding his face. Suddenly, she realized what was making him so edgy.

It was her fault.

He was apprehensive about whether she'd made her decision—her choice about them and their "now." He was anxious about the next 5% of his life.

Sookie had promised herself that she wouldn't make up her mind about what she wanted to do until they were in the park—until after their morning in the MET. Selfishly, she'd wanted to spend a morning with Eric exploring a gallery no matter what, so she'd put her need to make a choice out of her mind for a few hours, simply enjoying the fact that she was doing her favorite activity with her favorite person.

But—looking at Eric's face now—she knew that she couldn't torture him by putting off her decision any longer. No. She would either return to the MET with Eric that afternoon, or she would tell him goodbye. Either way, she'd sworn to herself that she would have no regrets.

She took a moment to think as she weighed her decision. In truth, she'd been thinking a lot about the four scenarios that Claudine had asked her to consider since the previous Tuesday.

Vivid and bright—that was what being with Eric would be like. In her bones, Sookie knew that—with him—she would experience joy like she had never known before and would likely never know again. But being with him would also cost her something. There would be that inevitable moment when they would be pulled apart—by his family and the difference in their societal positions. Eric had been brutally honest with her about that—because the truth itself was brutal. He'd promised to be faithful while they were together, but he hadn't been able to promise her a happily ever after.

Pale, hollow, neutral—those were the adjectives that would describe her life if she didn't seize the "now" with Eric.

Temporary happiness followed by sorrow. Or perceived self-protection followed by regret.

Sookie knew that no matter what, she wouldn't regress to where she had been before she started having sessions with Claudine. No. She'd jumped a hurdle in her life by getting professional help. And she'd jumped another when she realized that she had the right to be content. She was determined to eke out that contentment no matter where Eric fit—or didn't fit—into her life.

But Eric offered her contentment plus a whole hell of a lot more.

Sookie closed her eyes. During their week together, she had recognized something about Eric Northman; he was the only person she'd ever met—perhaps the only person she would ever meet—that she felt she could just be "Sookie" with. There was something about him that soothed and stirred something within her—that made her feel more at peace with herself and in the world than she'd ever felt before. Though she hadn't had the chance to tell Eric everything about her life, it had felt natural—easy even—to open herself up to him. She loved being able to share who she was; she loved the automatic acceptance that came from him. She wanted more of that feeling; she felt greedy for it.

Selfish even.

Sookie knew that her choice came down to facing extremes or living in relative "safety." Giving Eric up now would hurt. And though that hurt would be of a different type than what she'd undergone because of her mother and then Bill, it would likely be a more profound ache. However, she wasn't going to lie to herself; giving him up after having him for more than three years would be exponentially worse.

And the three years and eight months would—almost certainly—move much faster than any other time she'd ever experienced.

Eric took off his sunglasses to clean them. As he gazed out over the Great Lawn, Sookie could see that there was a war raging in his eyes. She saw hope and hopelessness flittering in and out of his blue orbs as if he were a Viking of old, looking onto a battlefield and wondering if he would enjoy victory or suffer defeat.

Life or death.

Now that she could see his eyes, she could tell that hopelessness was winning inside of him; she could see his beautiful blues already resigning themselves, preparing themselves for loss and rejection.

Rejection—both Eric and she had faced its cold hand before.

As far as Sookie could tell, both Eric and she could count on a single hand—with a few fingers left over—the number of people whom they could truly count on. For Eric, it was Pam and his grandmother and Bobby. For Sookie, it was Gran, Amelia, and Claudine.

But even those people would always be kept somewhat at a distance—never to be let in fully. Sookie knew that for a fact, even if she wished things could be different. She also knew that there would be no keeping Eric at arm's length. After all, he was already inside of her.

Eric saw her looking at him and smiled at her as he put on his sunglasses. She could tell that it was a sad smile. And in that moment, Sookie knew that Eric was expecting her not to choose him. For all his charm and the confidence he exuded in a room full of business associates and socialites, the little boy that had not been loved by his father was—even at that very moment—reconciling himself to his fate of being unhappy and alone once more. He was steeling himself for another expected rejection.

He was reminding himself of what he'd always been taught—that he didn't deserve any happiness. That he was somehow defective.

And, seeing that, Sookie knew what she had to do. She knew what she wanted to do.

Eric POV

From the moment Eric had introduced Sookie to Ben and his crew, he'd been reeling.

He'd felt intense pride having her on his arm. But then, almost immediately, he'd felt ashamed—not of her, but of himself. Would he have felt the same pride introducing Sookie to his father? Yes—he realized that he would. Sookie was beautiful on both the inside and the outside. And he would always be proud to be with her.

But it wouldn't matter; he'd never be in the position to make an introduction between Sookie and his father. He'd have to hide any relationship he had with her. What if she thought that was because he was ashamed of her? What if she grew to resent him? What if she grew to hate him for being a coward?

Eric closed his eyes as tight as he could, but even behind his dark sunglasses, the sunlight still burned into him.

His father had been right about him. Here he was with a woman he could love, and he couldn't fight for her—couldn't give her what she deserved. He felt deflated and worthless. Afraid.

If he'd had an ounce of honor, he would have told her goodbye and left her with Ben.

Ben would have taken care of her and made sure she'd gotten home safely. Ben would have continued to watch over her at the MET as he'd done for more than a year.

Eric sighed, his breath feeling ragged in his chest. Yes. His father was right about him. He was a plague. And yes. If he had any decency, he would have already freed Sookie—freed her from the hurt and the pain that always followed him.

But he hadn't done that. He'd tried to pretend that things were "okay."

After they'd left the MET for lunch, he'd attempted to distract Sookie and himself from his darkening mood by showing her Bridge No. 24, which was his favorite structure in the park, but even the bridge had reminded him of his lack of courage. Making such constructions had once been his dream, but he'd given up that dream without a fight. And now—when he made something with his hands—he did it only in his morfar's old workshop, scared to build anything in the light of day.

None of his pieces had ever been signed. And no one—except for Mormor—knew that they were his.

In truth, Eric had given up every dream he'd ever had for himself—and then he'd stopped dreaming altogether—as he'd followed his father's prescription for his life like a dog begging to be patted on the back.

But the dog had been kicked instead of petted.

Instead of giving him acceptance, Appius had used a litany of other words to describe Eric; worthless, "good-for-nothing," "useless," "inadequate," "burdensome," and "pathetic" were just a few. All of those words flowed through Eric's brain like lava as he watched the sea of people on the Great Lawn. They all looked happy, basking in the warm New York sunshine.

He felt unworthy to be in the same place as they were—and especially undeserving to be sitting next to Sookie.

He closed his eyes even tighter, letting his memories take him away from the smiling people around him. He felt five years old again—frightened and confused. Learning what it felt like to be unloved for the first time.

On August 19, 1987—just two months after his mother had died—he'd been shipped to the Murray Academy near Gloucester, Massachusetts; there he'd stayed from kindergarten to eighth grade. His father had had to pay more—a lot more—so that Eric could live at the school from kindergarten to second grade since Murray accepted boarders only from the third grade up.

But Appius's money could—apparently—accomplish anything. And Appius was insistent that Eric be sent away and stay away. Eric couldn't remember many specifics from that time, but he did recall how it felt to be sitting in the back of a limousine on his way to the school.

He'd wet his pants because of both fear and the fact that the driver had been told not to stop until they were at Murray. He'd received a three page, typed written reprimand from his father because of it. It had taken him months to be able to read and understand it all. He still had it.

Predictably, Eric had felt isolated at Murray from the start. He was only five when he moved there, compared to the other boarders at Murray, the youngest of whom were eight. To make his isolation even more acute, he'd been given a room at the end of a hall, and unlike the others at school, Eric didn't have a roommate. He eventually discovered that Appius had insisted upon this, claiming that it was because Eric was younger than the other boarders. Later, Appius had paid extra to make sure that Eric was never given a roommate.

At Murray, Eric had worked very hard to excel in both academics and athletics because he'd been afraid not to—afraid of causing his father further disappointment. He was moved to Exeter Academy for ninth to twelfth grade, and he continued to excel there.

He joined every club his father told him to join. And—again without questioning or fight—he gave up anything that his father didn't like, which included anything that Eric truly enjoyed doing. Eventually, Eric had stopped letting himself enjoy things. He would numb himself to what could have been a good experience for fear that it would be the next thing to be taken.

It was always a given to Appius Northman that Eric would go into business, even though Eric's aptitudes and interests had leaned more toward mathematics and architecture. However, Eric put his preferences to the side and worked twice as hard to shine in the things his father approved of—not that Eric himself ever received any of that approval.

Eric had dared to mention his own interests to Appius only once. During his junior year as an undergraduate at Harvard, Appius had noticed that Eric had taken a few classes that were "not part of the plan." Eric had tried to calmly tell Appius that he was getting a double major in Business and Architecture. Needless to say, Appius had not approved of Eric's "waste of time."

That conversation had taken place on Christmas day during their annual meeting.

At first, Appius had laughed off Eric's "little hobby" and had ordered him to drop the second major. About to turn 21, which was when he would gain access to his inheritance from his grandfather John Northman, Eric had tried to stand up for himself. He'd promised his father that the second major wouldn't interfere with his grades or the timeline Appius had laid out for Eric to get his business degree. When the young man had persisted, Appius had moved on to coercion.

One thing that Eric had learned that day was that Appius knew just what to threaten in order to make him comply. He'd started with Pam.

At 18 at the time, Pam was still in prep school; she was going to be going to Stanford the next year, and it was all that she'd been able to talk about in her letters for months. Appius threatened to cut her off without a penny—to leave her on Eric's doorstep to deal with. And—though Eric would have been able to afford to pay for Pam's education with his inheritance—Appius had made it crystal clear that he had friends on the board of trustees at Stanford and that Pam would never set foot on that campus if Eric didn't do what was expected of him.

Appius had also claimed that he knew people at Harvard—people who could make sure that Eric got thrown out of the college. He said that it wouldn't be difficult at all to "produce" evidence indicating that Eric had cheated on his SATs to get into the prestigious university.

Appius's next threat had been to take away Eric's ability to see his siblings. He reminded Eric that he was only in the house that day—Christmas Day—because of Appius's "tolerance." He reminded Eric that he didn't have to let him have access to his siblings at all.

And finally Appius had taken advantage of the one thing that Eric had always wanted most—his father's love. Appius swore that he would never see or speak to Eric again if he went forward with his "juvenile" plans. He placed guilt on the 19-year-old's shoulders by speaking of family legacies and his mother's dying wishes that both of her children be a part of Northman Publishing. He reminded Eric that he was the only one who could bring together Northman Publishing and Larsson Publishing, which had been his morfar's company.

Eric had tried one last time to argue that his having a second major wouldn't affect any of Appius's plans for him. But Appius had dismissed Eric's reasoning and had insisted that "distractions" would only make Eric "weaker than he already was."

Eric had caved. In the end, his interest in architecture just wasn't worth Pam being hurt. Architecture wasn't—after all—something that Eric could pursue outside of college anyway.

The biggest secret he'd ever kept from his father was that he hadn't given up his interest in architecture and construction altogether. He would sit in on the larger architecture lectures at Harvard, and then—later—he found a couple of professors who let him audit their classes off the record.

Eric couldn't help but to wish that his 20-year-old self would have just told his father to fuck off—to call his bluff. Surely Appius wouldn't have cut off Pam—would he have? And even if Appius's influence at Harvard was as great as he claimed, surely Eric could have gotten into another school, maybe even in Sweden. But Eric had been frightened by his father's threats. Plus, he had wanted Appius's approval so badly that he'd never really questioned him again—not until the Freyda situation, at least. And—if Eric was being honest with himself—the only thing that had given him the courage to go against his father then had been the contract between them, the same contract that had now become his bane.

Eric sighed. After that tiny "rebellion" regarding his interest in architecture, he had fallen back into line and had stayed there for the most part. And now his future seemed locked because of the contract. He simply didn't have it in him to fight against Appius Northman. Plus—as loathe as Eric was to admit it—he still craved his father's approbation.

Eric's thoughts were stopped short as he saw a father—a man about his own age, maybe younger—playing catch with two children, a boy and a girl. As Eric looked at the smiling family, he realized once more that he didn't deserve Sookie—that he would just hold her back from finding a man like the one he was looking at.

And—for the life of him—Eric couldn't think of a single reason why Sookie would want him—why she'd choose to be with him, even for a day.

He had money, but she wasn't interested in that. He was good-looking, but she wasn't concerned with that either—at least not beyond normal attraction. He had nothing to offer her other than his heart. But what was that worth? He was offering her only a fifth of a life with a man that was so unworthy that his own father despised him.

She deserved more.

Eric shook his head a little. He was a good business man, and nothing about the "deal" he was offering Sookie seemed appealing in the least.

He thought back to the words that his father had spoken to him just that Friday when they were finishing up a meeting: "I don't know how I even tolerate you," Appius had said as he'd looked at Eric with judgment in his eyes. "The only thing you've never failed at is being a disappointment to me."

Eric glanced at Sookie and saw that she was looking at him, though he couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses. Suddenly, he feared that her eyes were judging him—that they were disappointed in the man that he was and in the lackluster offer he'd made to her. His own sunglasses were in his hand, as he'd been absentmindedly cleaning them.

He managed to give Sookie a little smile as he put them back on. If he were a good man—if he were a selfless man—he'd get up and leave Sookie Stackhouse in peace. He would do what was best for her and not himself.

He had to do what was best for her.

He looked back at the father with his two children and followed the progress of the little boy as he ran to a woman who was sitting on a blanket and reading a book. The woman smiled at that boy and gave him a drink of what looked like juice before sending him back out to play.

"Sookie," Eric said quietly, "I can't do this to you." He looked back at her. "I can't hurt you like this. You deserve a man who will give you a whole life. You deserve a good man." He paused. "I'm not that man."

He went to stand up, but her hand stopped him. "You are a good man, Eric Northman."

"No," he said in a sob, though his sunglasses hid the moisture in his eyes. "I'm a selfish bastard. I should have never spoken to you, Sookie. If I were a good man, I would have stayed away from you."

He tried to get up again, but was surprised once more when her grip kept him from rising. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to get up. Either way, he stayed on his knees.

"I didn't want you to stay away," she said as she pulled him so that he was sitting again. "And I don't want you to go away now."

"You don't?" he asked as a tear dripped past the perimeter of his sunglasses.

"Eric," she said quietly, but with certainty in her voice as she brought her hand up to his cheek, "I want to be with you for as long as I can be."

"It's not enough. I'm not enough," he said with resignation, shaking his head even as he leaned into her touch.

"People usually don't know when a relationship will end when it starts, but you and I do. And that does suck, but it's not just unfair to me. It's not fair to you either."

"Sookie, I can't," he started.

"Eric," she interrupted with a hand over his mouth, "Having something is better than having nothing—isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered in a tortured voice as she moved her hand back to his cheek.

"So you and I will hold onto each other for as long as we can," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe we can fit a lifetime of happiness into just a few years. Eric, I want to try; we both need to try."

"It's not fair to you," Eric said again, shaking his head.

"It's not fair to you either," she repeated, taking his hand.

"Don't you see?" he whispered with desperation in his voice. "I'm like poison, and being with me will only hurt you."

"No," she said fiercely. "No, Eric. I don't know why you feel that way yet. But you aren't poison. And—even if you were—you'd be a poison that I want."

"I'll hurt you," Eric said sadly. "I've already hurt you."

"You'll never hurt me," she said, caressing his cheek even as she squeezed his hand. "A situation may hurt me. You. Never. Will."

"Sookie," he said shaking his head. Words wouldn't quite come to his lips as two parts of him warred: the part that desperately wanted to find a measure of happiness and the part that didn't think he deserved to find any.

"You don't get to decide for me, Eric," Sookie said. "I deserve happiness too—you know."

Another tear dropped past his sunglasses.

"You are my happiness, Eric Northman. And I won't let you take it away from me. I want you," she added staunchly—stubbornly even.

"You want me?" he asked in a whimper.

"Of course I do," she said, a tear falling past her sunglasses too. "From the first moment I saw you, I've wanted you."

The two stared at each other quietly for a moment, each coming to terms with the words she'd spoken. Her expression was one of certainty. His was one of shock.

"Sookie," he said finally, "I need to see your eyes."

She nodded and took her sunglasses off, wiping away an errant tear as she did. He gasped when he saw the conviction and faith in her eyes.

He stared at her in disbelief. "You're really going to do this with me?"

"Yes," she said sincerely before her lips turned up a bit playfully. "Who knows? I might get tired of you after a week? Or you might get tired of being with only one woman?"

"I won't get tired of you, Sookie Stackhouse," he said genuinely, sliding toward her on the blanket and kissing her gently—chastely.

"I'm glad," she said, taking off his sunglasses so that she could make sure his eyes were no longer holding the kind of heartache she'd seen in them minutes before. They weren't.

Now, there was a lightness in them, and Sookie knew that it was because of her. She liked that she'd put it there.

This time, she leaned in and initiated their kiss. It was soft and unheated. In it was acceptance of what they hoped to find together—for as long as they could.


	28. Looking Forward

Chapter 28: Looking Forward

"Well?" Eric asked giving Sookie a mischievous look.

She chuckled. "Why do you think I picked this one?" she asked, looking at the folio from The Book of Kings that Eric was pointing to.

"The subject matter," he responded, his lips turning up into a grin that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

Sookie took a moment to appreciate the beauty of that smile—the ease of it.

"Chess?" she asked, also smiling.

He nodded. "It's a guess—really. I'm almost certain that you're going to pick something from this book, but I'm not sure which folio."

"What about you?" she asked, looking around the room and then back at him. "Although you beat me at chess yesterday, I don't think this is the piece you're drawn to—is it?"

He shook his head.

"So—what's your favorite?" she pressed.

"I'm still thinking about it," he responded, keeping his gaze fixed on hers.

"You're lying," she challenged.

He chuckled and nodded. "Yes. But—how about I tell you my favorite another time?"

Her eyes took themselves to the Mihrab. When she looked back at him in question, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She frowned.

"Can I tell you why it's my favorite another time?" he asked quietly—gently.

"Okay," she said in barely a whisper.

"Thanks," he reponded, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead.

"For what?"

"There's too much to list," he said, smiling again. "And I'm anxious to find out if I'm right about your choice."

She smiled. "Well—you were close, but," she paused dramatically, "no cigar."

"Darn," he chuckled. "You were right. I did pick this one because I beat you at chess yesterday," Eric said with a wink as he looked down at the manuscript page again. He read the label aloud, "Buzurgmihr Masters the Game of Chess."

"I don't know who Buzurgmihr is," Sookie reported, her face scrunching up a bit as she read the unfamiliar name.

"Me neither," Eric responded.

She winked at him. "And I'm not sure you can claim that you've mastered chess."

"Me neither," he repeated with a chuckle.

"Now—if it had been called "Buzurgmihr Masters the Game of Scrabble," her voice trailed off as she smiled at him playfully.

He chuckled a little louder. "You should be aware that I ordered both Scrabble and Chess today. And Monopoly. And Trivial Pursuit. And Clue. And Battleship."

"When?" she asked with a laugh.

"While you were in the ladies' room. After lunch."

She grinned a little wider. "No—when will they be here?"

"Anxious for a rematch?" he asked, stepping closer and taking her hand, which was already poised for his.

She nodded. "Yeah—it was fun."

"Playing or winning?" he asked.

"Hey—you won one of the games too," she reminded.

"I remember. I had fun too."

"Playing or winning?" she asked impishly.

"Both," he replied honestly.

"Me too," she smiled.

"So—if you didn't pick the folio about chess, which one did you choose?" he asked, his eyebrow rising.

She pointed to a folio near the one they'd been discussing.

He grinned. "I knew you'd choose something from the Shahnama. Eric read the caption next to the folio Sookie was indicating. "'The Funeral of Isfandiyar.' Why this one?" he asked, tensing up a little. "The subject matter is a little," he paused.

"Morbid?" she offered.

He nodded.

Sookie shrugged. "It's weird, but I always kind of liked funerals. Most people say nice things at them—'Sorry for your loss' or 'He was a good man.' Stuff like that. Or they share nice stories about people's lives at them. My mom always wanted me to use my lip-reading to find out gossip about people, but after funerals, I'd just tell her the stories I'd 'heard'; it never took her long to get bored with them and leave me alone." She smiled sadly. "At my dad's funeral, I watched two of his old teachers share stories about him. Before that, I hadn't known that he won an essay contest for a paper on Hamlet or that his best subject was math or that he rode a motorcycle."

"I've never been to a funeral," Eric said quietly as he looked at the vibrant manuscript page.

"But your mom. Your grandfather. Your morfar," Sookie said in a whisper.

Eric closed his eyes. "Morfar died during the middle of a school term, and my father refused to give me permission to go. I wasn't allowed to go to my grandfather John's funeral either, even though I was called to attend the reading of his Will."

"Your mother's?"

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that Pam and I didn't go because people thought we were too young. I can't be sure." He opened his eyes. "And my father threatened to take Pam's division away from her if I went to Godric's funeral a few years ago. I still haven't forgiven myself for not being there for Bobby," he sighed.

Sookie took a step toward him and laid her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart. She had come to love its strong, steady beat in the time they'd spent together.

"From what you've told me of Bobby," she said softly, "he knew you were there—even if you weren't."

Eric tightened his arms around her.

"A funeral doesn't have to be a bad thing," she whispered. "It can be about beginnings, just as much as endings. I feel like that little girl who grew up so sad and hopeless and lonely in Bon Temps is all but dead now."

Eric pulled away a little so that he could look at her eyes. "What killed her?"

She smiled up at him. "I did. But you helped."

"How?" he asked.

"This," she said, putting her hand over his heart.

"This," he corrected, laying his own hand gently onto her heart.

The noise from a group of tourists interrupted their quiet moment.

Sookie took out her phone and snapped her picture of the folio page.

She smiled up at him. "It's funny, but I'm looking forward to things now," Sookie said, sounding a little surprised.

Eric nodded. "Me too."

"I can't say I've ever done that before."

"Me neither," he offered. "What are you looking forward to?"

"One thousand three hundred and twenty," she smiled.

"Days?"

She nodded. "Give or take. I didn't inherit my dad's love of math, I'm afraid; it always gave me a headache."

He chuckled. "Days when we can share breakfasts," he said.

"Lots of Sunday trips to the MET," she offered.

"Beating you at Scrabble."

She snickered. "Beating you at Chess."

He pulled her closer again. "Holding you."

"Talking together."

"Reading together."

"Snuggling together," she sighed.

"I like that one," he murmured, kissing her hair.

"Shit!" she exclaimed loudly, even as she pulled out of his arms.

He looked dumbfounded at her sudden change of mood. "What? What's wrong?"

"Sex!" she said, still too loudly.

The group of tourists looked disapprovingly at the couple; one even went so far as to "shush" them.

As soon as she realized she'd basically yelled the word "sex," Sookie glowed red. Eric turned them so that his back was to the tourists and he was concealing Sookie's body from them.

He whispered. "Sex? Are you—um? I mean—we don't have to do anything—um—right away. We can wait until you're comfortable."

"No!" she cried immediately and loudly. She laughed nervously as they were "shushed" again. "I don't want to wait," she added in a whisper. "It's just that—um—it's been a while."

"You don't want to wait?" he asked, looking for confirmation—and suddenly looking a little nervous himself.

She shook her head.

"So—um—tonight?" he asked hopefully.

Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. "If you—uh—want. I mean, we don't have to do," she started.

"No!" he exclaimed. It was his turn to get "shushed."

"No?" she asked.

"I mean—yes?" he said, looking confused.

"Yes?"

He took a breath. "I mean I don't want to wait either."

She smiled, but then frowned. "Would you mind if I—uh—called Claudine?"

"Claudine? Why?" he asked, confused again.

She let out a nervous laugh. "Because I'm freaking out a little, and I—uh—well, I don't want to wait until my session with her on Tuesday to talk about it."

"Oh—um—sure," Eric said, looking around them and noticing that they were alone in the room again.

"Thanks," Sookie said, looking relieved.

"I'll just go say goodbye to Ben and meet you by the entrance?" Eric questioned.

Sookie nodded.

He bent down and kissed her chastely on the lips. "I meant what I said," he whispered. "I'd be willing to wait until you aren't freaked out."

She went back to biting her lip. "Thanks. But I really don't want to wait," she said, blushing again. "I just need to—um," she paused, "talk to a therapist and a woman."

He chuckled. "Claudine's a good choice then. I'll be waiting by the entrance once you're done with your call."

Sookie nodded.

Eric POV

Eric felt a rush of anxiety mixed with anticipation as Sookie came into sight. She looked a little flushed, but much calmer than she had been when he left her in Gallery 455.

"Good call?" he asked, as she laced her fingers into his.

"Yeah. But she—um—gave me some topics we should discuss before we—uh," she paused. "I wrote them down."

"Okay," Eric said simply.

"Okay?" Sookie asked.

He nodded. "How about we walk through the park and then get some dinner? And—uh—do you want to come home with me tonight? Or we could go back to Brooklyn?"

"I was hoping we could go to your place. Amelia's—uh—coming home today. And—uh—it'd be good if it was just," she paused, "us—I think."

He smiled. "Okay. I've been anxious to show you my place anyway."

"We could have gone earlier in the week," Sookie said, still biting her lip nervously.

He shrugged. "I was happy to be in our bubble for the week."

She smiled and relaxed a little. "Me too."

So—we'll wait until we get to my place to talk about Claudine's topics. And then we'll go from there? Sound like a plan?" he asked.

She blushed. "Yep."

Eric and Sookie left the museum after exchanging waves with Milos and Jack. Unlike the week before, Eric led them across the park in a more direct path so that they'd emerge on Central Park West at 81st Street.

By the time they were halfway across the park, Eric's own nervousness had begun to rise. Actually, he felt a little like he had when he was sixteen years old and about to lose his virginity. Yvetta had been an eighteen-year-old exchange student from Russia, and she had seemed like the most exciting thing in the world to him. He'd lasted for about sixty seconds inside of her before he filled the condom. And—to last that long—he'd been trying to picture Rosanne Barr in the movie She Devil, particularly the part where the camera showed an extreme close-up of her mole. Her large, hairy mole.

It hadn't taken Eric long to realize that Yvetta had sought him out in hopes that he'd spend a lot of money on her. However, Yvetta had been an "instructive" first lover in that she'd given him a crash-course on "getting her off" with his fingers and tongue while they'd waited the ten minutes it had taken for Eric to get hard again. He'd lasted five minutes his second time.

After it was over, Yvetta asked him to take her out to a fancy restaurant. She'd been horrified when he told her that he didn't receive an allowance—let alone a four-figure one like many of the others at his school did. She'd left his room in a frustrated huff, complaining about his inexperience and cursing in Russian. By the next week, she was sleeping with someone else and wearing a new diamond tennis bracelet. The week after that, another boy and another piece of jewelry clung to her body.

Eric had learned two important lessons from his interactions with Yvetta. First, he'd learned that sex—even with someone he didn't really like—was enjoyable. So he'd endeavored to have more of it. Second, he'd learned that it was best to be upfront about what he could and couldn't offer. Luckily, there was not a shortage of girls who were willing to accept casual sex with him. They enjoyed his body and his discretion. In turn, he enjoyed the distraction and release they could give him.

Over the years, Eric had acquired control as he worked to make sure his sex partners received pleasure before he took his own. And other than from Yvetta and Nora, he was proud to say that he'd had no complaints about his stamina.

Yes. He'd learned how to deliver physical pleasure to his partners. And he'd been happy to receive pleasure in return. However, the women he'd been with before were interchangeable for the most part.

By contrast, the emotional connection he shared with Sookie was something foreign to him. He cared for her—more than just cared, actually. And when his physical attraction—an attraction that eclipsed anything he'd ever felt before—was factored into the equation, it was no wonder that he was nervous.

Instinctively, he knew that having sex with Sookie would be better than any physical pleasure he'd ever experienced before. Therefore, he was worried that he might lose "it" once he was finally inside of her. And he was pretty sure that picturing Rosanne wouldn't even do the trick.

Yes. He was definitely feeling a little stage fright about the prospect of being with Sookie.

He took a shaky breath; failing to satisfy Sookie sexually was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew that he'd be only her second partner, and although she'd not yet told him everything there was to know about her relationship with Bill Compton, Eric could tell that Sookie's pleasure had not been at the top of the man's list of priorities.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Sookie asked, breaking into his reverie as they passed just north of the Delacorte Theater.

He chuckled. "You probably don't want to know."

She looked up at him and smiled. "And what if I do?"

"Then, I'll tell you, and you'll blush." He chuckled again. "Or I'll blush. Probably both of us."

"You? Blush?"

"Hey—I've been known to blush," he said, swinging their connected hands playfully.

"When?" she asked, truly curious.

"Fourth grade choir performance—zipper down in front of the whole school."

She laughed.

"Eleventh grade debate team—zipper down in front of the Supreme Court."

"What? Really?" she exclaimed.

"Yep," he said, cringing a little at the memory. "My school's team won a national contest, and we got to present in front of the Supreme Court Justices. In the pictures I saw later, my tighty whities were," he paused, "prominent."

She grinned. "Do all of your embarrassing moments involve your zipper being down?"

At that question, he laughed heartily. He realized he'd not ever laughed like that before—so free. It felt good. Strange—but really good.

"What's so funny?" she asked with a giggle of her own.

"Actually—most of my embarrassing moments do involve my zipper being down," he responded. "I was just thinking about what a disaster I was the first time I had sex with someone. And," he paused, his cheeks pinking up, "I have to admit to a little performance anxiety about—uh—tonight."

She stopped in her tracks, halting him too. Her eyebrows shot up almost comically, and she started and stopped speaking several times. She, of course, was blushing even more than he was by that point. "You? You're nervous?"

He shrugged and nodded. "I can't help it. I want you to," he paused, "enjoy yourself."

Sookie squeezed his hand and chewed her lip. "And I want you to enjoy yourself." Her blush became impossibly redder, traveling all the way down her throat and disappearing under the top of her dress. Eric couldn't help but to follow its heated path.

As he felt himself grow a little hard—a signal that didn't bode well for his self-control—she stammered on, "I'm afraid—uh—I won't have the—uh—experience the—uh—other girls you've been with have had. What if I—um—bore you?"

He quickly pulled her into his arms. "Not possible," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"So we're both nervous about tonight?" Sookie asked after a few moments, still obviously surprised by Eric's confession.

"So it seems."

"Good," she said smiling up at him. "That actually makes me feel better."

"Me too," he chuckled as they started walking again, hands still joined and swinging once more.

"So—um—do you mind if we go to that sushi place again for dinner?" Sookie asked after a few minutes.

Eric chuckled. "I think I've created a sushi monster."

She giggled. "I think you're right. I've been craving it since the day after we had it."

"Then sushi it is," Eric agreed. "In truth, I've been craving it too. I usually go there a couple of times a week."

"So we're both sushi fiends?"

"Looks like it," he chuckled.

As they emerged from the park, Sookie looked to her left and took in the impressive architecture of the American Museum of Natural History. She sighed. "I like how the MET and the natural history museum flank the park on either side."

"Have you been there?" Eric asked.

"Once," she responded. "I prefer art to natural history; however, we should think about going there if we run out of MET galleries to explore."

"We," he whispered aloud, but seemingly to himself.

"Or we could try the Guggenheim or the Museum of Modern Art. And then there are always new exhibitions at the MET. And the MET galleries you haven't been to. I wouldn't mind going back to those."

"Sounds good," Eric said, his voice a little thick.

"Which one?"

"All," he said. "Especially the we part."

Sookie looked up at him. "Something to look forward to?"

He nodded as he turned them up the street toward the restaurant.

He inhaled deeply. The air was still warm as the afternoon turned to evening, but there was a slight breeze, despite the fact that the tall buildings of New York were serving as wind blocks. He caught the scent of flowers blooming in the park, and he smiled at the gentle fragrance, even as he thought about all the things that he was looking forward to because of the woman whose hand was swinging gently with his.


	29. New Territory, Part 1

Chapter 29: New Territory, Part 1

Sookie squeezed Eric's hand nervously as they got out of their cab at the southwest entrance of Carmichael Plaza. Near the Hudson River on the Upper West Side, Carmichael Plaza was huge, boasting homes with some of the most spacious floor plans in the city. Sookie looked up, scanning the tower of the plaza, which extended upward from the rest of the fuller-bodied building. She gasped; she certainly felt out of her element.

"So—uh—Amelia's dad really owns all of this?" she asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Eric responded. "Some of the residences in the main building have been set aside for rentals, but I believe most have been bought. Copley retains ownership of the land and building, but—for example—I own the square footage of my home. Carmichael Industries deals with any structural issues with the building—as well as any infrastructure that affects multiple residences, like plumbing and electricity and air flow. In turn, residents here pay into something like an HOA each month to help maintain the property and to pay for staffing. Of course, that fund is huge, and anything not used for the building goes into Copley's pockets."

Sookie nodded. "Oh."

Eric pointed south—in the direction of a line of newer-looking high rises flanking the Hudson. "Carmichael Industries actually owns the next four high rises south of here too. It's affectionately called Carmichael Row. A few decades ago, Copley got the idea to tear down the more modest buildings that were here and to replace them with residential high rises. At the time, I think it was a PR nightmare because of all the displaced people and businesses, and it took a huge initial investment. But—from what I understand—this is now one of the most profitable real estate ventures on record."

"Wow!" Sookie said as she shook her head. She couldn't imagine the kind of wealth it required to construct so many high rises, nor could she grasp the profits Mr. Carmichael must have made in selling most of the properties within those massive structures.

"Carmichael Plaza was the last of the Row to get finished," Eric continued. "I think that Copley originally intended to live here—on the top floor of the tower—after he retired. There's a park view to the north from this building and the river view to the west; I imagine he intended to take advantage of that, especially given his donations to Riverside Park during the last two decades. The tower here was also planned to be the tallest in the Row, but when Copley's wife died, his plans changed," Eric informed, his voice trailing off as he too looked upward at the lights of the tower.

"Amelia doesn't talk much about her mom's illness and death, but it's clear that it changed her dad in a lot of ways." Sookie sighed deeply. "She says that he won't come into the city much anymore; it reminds him too much of his wife."

Eric nodded. "I don't know Copley well—though I've talked to his son Paul—Amelia's brother—quite a bit at gatherings. I," he paused, "like Paul; he and his wife talk a lot about their kids and always leave events early."

"Yeah. Amelia says that her brother hates going to black tie stuff—that he and their father used to clash over Paul's main priority not being the business. But Mr. Carmichael's attitude about that has changed too," Sookie reported.

Eric's expression was wistful for a moment. "When I moved to Manhattan and started working at Northman Publishing, it was clear that Copley was a good friend of my father's." He paused. "Despite that, Copley was always cordial to me, though not as much as some of my father's other contemporaries."

"Amelia said that her father used to seem like Donald Trump to her," Sookie laughed a little. "But now," she paused. "Now she says that he seems like just a dad."

"Just," Eric whispered. He smiled sadly at the thought, wishing his own father could undergo such a transformation. "I haven't seen Copley much since his wife died," he said. "I don't think Appius sees him much anymore either. However, Appius is still a huge investor in some of Carmichael Industries' ventures. He's even on the board of directors."

"Did he help fund this building?" Sookie asked.

"No," Eric responded. "Not directly—at least. I think Appius invested heavily in the other high rises in Carmichael Row. However, this building was Copley's pet project, so he didn't take outside investors for it. That was one of the reasons I agreed when Pam wanted me to move here too."

"Because your father's not directly involved in it?"

Eric nodded.

"Oh," Sookie said, not knowing what else to say at that moment.

"I also liked this building because of its location and its unique architecture," Eric said with a faint smile. "And—since the tower section was redesigned to be less—uh—impressive, I could afford to live here."

Sookie looked at him with questions in her eyes, but didn't ask any of them as he led her toward the entrance of the building—her left hand entwined in his right. They were greeted by two men in sharp suits.

"Good evening, Mr. Northman," one of the men said through an intercom, even as he pushed a button which opened the glass doors of the building.

Given their attire, Sookie thought the two men looked more like secret servicemen than doormen. But, then again, during dinner, Eric had told her that security was tight at the building—especially in the tower section—because there were several high profile people, including a couple of actors, living there. According to Eric, the rest of the building's occupants consisted mostly of younger people—professionals wealthy enough to afford their own one to three million dollar homes—but not "people with real money," according to Sophie-Anne.

Eric had also told her that Appius had almost blocked Pam from living in the building—despite the fact that it bore the name of his erstwhile friend and business colleague. Because of its redesign, Appius deemed Carmichael Plaza to be "housing for the masses"—acceptable for Eric, but not for his daughter. Pam changed Appius's mind by giving him a list of people who'd already purchased homes in the tower. They were, apparently, "more acceptable people" in Appius Northman's eyes. Plus, Pam had wanted both a park and a river view. In the end, Appius had "indulged" her.

"Good evening," Eric nodded toward both guards once he and Sookie were inside the lobby. "Trey, Rasul—this is Sookie Stackhouse."

Sookie smiled somewhat nervously as the two men nodded in her direction. Rasul looked to be about 40 and had a dark olive complexion. He was a couple of inches shorter than Eric and wore an easy smile.

Sookie reached out her hand to shake his, causing the man to look a little surprised.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Stackhouse," Rasul said with a slight accent as he took her hand.

"Sookie," she said a little nervously. "You can call me Sookie if you want."

Rasul nodded as Sookie turned to shake the other guard's hand. She noticed that Eric's palm was placed at the small of her back, not possessively as much as comfortingly. She was grateful for the touch; she was also proud of herself for not being as nervous as usual about meeting new people.

As she turned her attention to Trey, she noticed that he looked an inch or two shorter than Rasul, but he was just as solidly built. He smiled as he shook her hand.

"Hello, Sookie," Trey said.

"Hello," Sookie responded.

Trey's smile was obviously not as natural of an expression as Rasul's was for him, but Sookie could tell that it was just as sincere as the other guard's.

"Sookie will need a cab tomorrow at around 11:00," Eric said to Trey.

"No problem," the guard responded as he turned to type a note at a computer station that was set up next to the entrance.

"You two have a nice evening," Rasul said as Eric took Sookie's hand again and led her toward a desk in the modern-looking lobby area of Carmichael Plaza Tower.

Sookie let her eyes sweep up from the highly polished marble floor to the man behind the desk. He was dressed more casually than the others—in jeans and a green T-shirt that made his red hair stand out.

"Hello, Henry," Eric greeted.

"Hey, Eric," the man returned with a smile that made his light blue-green eyes sparkle. Even though he was sitting down and dressed less formally than the others, Henry had an air of command about him. "Is this Sookie?" he asked.

Eric nodded. At the restaurant, Eric had told her that he and Henry, the building's chief of security, had what Eric called a "friendship of sorts."

Henry stood up and reached out a hand to shake Sookie's. "Nice to meet you," he said pleasantly. He looked at Eric. "Pam's already come and gone. She said something about staying at your father's place tonight."

Eric nodded as Sookie visibly relaxed. Running into Pam had not been something she'd wanted to do.

With a manner that clearly indicated his excellence at his job, Henry spoke in a quieter tone as he continued, "I've informed the other guards of the relevant details of the phone conversation you and I had a little while ago."

"Thanks," Eric said.

Sookie bit her lip. Eric had called Henry before they went into the restaurant in order to let him know that she was going to be a frequent guest of his—a guest that he didn't want others—not even Pam—to find out about for the time being.

Henry put a small electronic device up onto the counter; it looked almost like a keypad for a debit card at a grocery store; however, there were no numbers on it. "All I need is your left thumb and your right index finger," Henry said, winking at Sookie.

When Sookie looked a little confused, Henry explained. "After I have your prints, I can put you into the system to operate the elevators. Each tower resident shares an elevator with only a few others; Eric will show you which elevator he uses. Your left thumb will call the elevator to you. Once you are on the elevator, your right index finger will give you access to Eric's home, the garage, the pool level, or back here."

Eric chuckled. "It's all very high tech, but it's nice not to have to worry about keys."

Sookie giggled as Henry captured her prints.

"Have you disabled Pam's access to my house for now?" Eric asked quietly.

Henry nodded. "Yep. Don't worry."

"Thanks," Eric said.

"See you two later," Henry said with another wink at Sookie.

Eric led Sookie around the corner from the desk to a bank of six elevators and stopped in front of the one at the far right.

"This one is ours," he informed. "Pam also uses this elevator, which is actually quite convenient. We share it with one other floor—the level above mine—but it might as well be private. I've only had to wait for it a couple of times."

Sookie nodded. "I figured it'd be a lot busier in your building. It's got to be at least thirty stories high—right?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Thirty three," Eric said. "But the southwest entrance we just used is only for people in the tower homes, and there are only eighteen floors extending up from the rest of the structure. The other one hundred and thirty-two residences in the Carmichael Plaza are accessed through the north, west, and east entrances." Eric gestured for Sookie to call the elevator. "Let's see how fast Henry is."

Sookie giggled and pushed the button with her left thumb.

"Give me two minutes!" came Henry's raised voice. "Maybe three!"

Eric chuckled as he pushed the button with his own left thumb.

"So—uh—do you live really far up?" Sookie asked.

"Are you afraid of heights," he asked playfully as he retook her hand.

"No—just curious."

"I'm fifth from the top."

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "And Pam's house is right below yours?"

"Yep," Eric nodded as the elevator door opened.

"There are only four buttons," Sookie observed with confusion as they stepped onto the elevator. The doors closed behind them, but Eric didn't push any of the buttons.

He chuckled. "The top one will take us to my house, the next is back here, the next is to the private pool area, and the bottom one goes to the private garage for tower residents. It all runs by fingerprints. I have to use this finger to get to Pam's place," he said, wiggling his right ring finger near the top button.

"Oh," Sookie said shaking her head.

"Are you overwhelmed yet?" he asked, a little concerned.

She nodded. "Yeah—a little. So—uh—Henry seems nice," she added, changing the subject.

Eric nodded. In truth, Henry was someone that Eric liked quite a bit, despite their limited interactions. The redhead had done Eric a favor by giving up part of his night off to check Sookie into the building's system. Generally, the desk was manned only during weekdays, though the guards at the door could be called upon if there was need, and Henry was on call 24/7 for the tower residents—not that Eric had ever taken advantage of that fact before. However, Eric had gotten the impression that some of the building's more "entitled" residents tried to treat Henry and his team of highly trained guards as personal errand boys and girls at times.

"Yeah, he's nice, but don't let him fool you; he's a badass too—an ex-Navy SEAL," Eric reported.

"Really?" Sookie asked, obviously impressed.

"He was injured in Afghanistan," Eric shared. "He probably would have stayed in the military for life if he'd not been discharged."

"Was he discharged because of his injury?"

Eric shook his head. "No—not really. Don't get me wrong—it was a serious injury, but that's not why he was discharged. I'm not sure of all the details, but I've found out some of them."

"Oh?" Sookie asked.

"As head of security, Henry lives on the grounds, and I've seen him at Riverside Park. I run there some times. He—uh—lost his right leg at the thigh in a land mine; he's got a prosthesis."

"Really!" Sookie exclaimed.

"Yep—I didn't find out about it until six months or so after I moved in here." He chuckled. "I couldn't tell anything was wrong with him; we even ran together sometimes. It wasn't until spring—when he passed me wearing shorts—that I realized he had a prosthesis," Eric recounted. "He's pretty badass—actually. Runs the marathon too and gets donations for disabled vets that way." Eric paused. "And—given how well he does here—he could have stayed in the military as some kind of strategist or something, even if they didn't let him back into combat situations. Unfortunately, he was discharged because of his personal life."

"Huh?" Sookie asked.

"Henry's partner—Blake—lives with him, as does Henry's sister and her kids. From what I've been able to pick up, Blake was barred from seeing Henry when he was hurt—because 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' was still in effect then. "Henry is estranged from his parents; I can only assume that they were the ones that made sure Blake couldn't visit him."

"Oh," Sookie said with understanding. "That's horrible!"

Eric nodded. "Yeah. Henry was a Lieutenant Commander when he accepted an honorable discharge; I know that much. After his injury—which left him unconscious for several days—he'd apparently had enough of the government's laissez-faire attitude about gays in the military. I know that he and Blake worked to help get the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," policy repealed because Appius was displeased that the head of security here was on C-SPAN." He sighed. "I bought them a case of champagne when it was repealed."

Sookie nodded and then smiled up at him. "He winked at me—you know. I thought he might have been flirting."

Eric chuckled and squeezed her left hand as he gestured that she should push the button for his home with her right index finger. When she did, the conveyance immediately came to life.

"Well—Henry does like blondes," Eric waggled his eyebrows.

"And how would you know that?" Sookie asked coyly.

"He checks me out," Eric said, thrusting out his chest in an exaggerated way.

Sookie giggled. "I can't really blame him."

"Actually," Eric chuckled, "I'm glad that he doesn't check me out; I'm a little scared of Blake."

"Let me guess. Blake's blonde—right?" Sookie asked with a giggle.

"Yep. And an NYPD detective, so even if I were interested in Henry," Eric's voice trailed off as he smirked.

"I guess it's just not meant to be," Sookie laughed.

"Oh well—I'm more than happy about who I'm with," Eric smiled as he bent down to kiss Sookie's forehead as the elevator doors opened to his luxurious home. Her breath was immediately stolen as she took in the foyer. Her eyes were drawn to a unique wooden light fixture hanging in the middle of the space. A large turquoise floor vase stood against the wall opposite the elevator, and two beautiful chairs were placed on either side of it. Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if anyone ever sat in the pristine-looking furniture.

Following her eyes and seeming to read her thoughts, Eric spoke as he led them from the elevator. "The chairs really only get used when I have a party. Pam insists that someone be here to take coats. And Henry insists upon having an extra guard up here. I insist that they should be able to sit down."

Sookie nodded, but her attention was quickly stolen by a painting to her right. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. She walked over to the painting, he mouth agape. "Wow! This is by J. M. W. Turner!" she cried, as she looked at the distinctive signature.

"Yes," Eric responded, his voice edged with emotion. "You've seen more of his work? At the MET?" he asked.

She nodded. "'Whalers' was my favorite piece in Gallery 808."

"My great-grandmother Northman left it to me; she was my grandfather John's mother. I don't remember her, but there's a picture of us in front of it. She was reading to me." He sighed and smiled faintly. "She died on my fourth birthday. Much to my father's chagrin, this piece and the picture of us were held in trust for me until I was 21, along with first editions of all of the Horatio Hornblower books."

"This painting is—wow—priceless!" Sookie gasped.

"Yes," he observed quietly. "But the insurance company appraised this piece at only $900,000."

"You really are rich!" she gulped, still looking at the painting.

Eric chuckled a little. "Yeah—at least my family is. But this is the only piece of real monetary value that I own, and I'd never want to sell it."

There was a break in their conversation as Sookie continued to look at the painting.

Finally, after about a minute, Eric spoke, "I'm not as rich as you may think, Sookie," he said somewhat cautiously. "I know that doesn't matter to you, but I want you to," he paused, "know about me."

She looked at him with confusion. "You're right. I don't care if you have money or not, but I—uh," she paused, "thought you were one of the richest people in New York. That's what everyone says," she finished awkwardly.

Eric chuckled ruefully. "Well—everyone is wrong." He took a breath. "The Northman name was enough to help me get into this building when Pam wanted to live here. But my father keeps me on a pretty short leash, truth be told. I mean—don't get me wrong—I have plenty of money, more than any one person should have, but it's nothing like my father's wealth."

"But you get a big salary from Northman Publishing—right?" Sookie asked, looking back at him.

"Yeah—pretty big. I get the industry standard for a deputy CEO," he said somewhat stiffly. "It's enough to cover the mortgage on this place and enough to live on as long as I don't get carried away. I also get some quarterly stock dividends that I put into savings or reinvest. And when I own this place outright in about 16 years, I'll have a lot more cash to work with—of course."

"You have a mortgage?" she asked with surprise.

Eric chuckled. "Yeah—as I said, Appius doesn't want me too independent. Both sets of my grandparents set up a trust fund for me when I was born, but my mother and father were given the power of attorney to decide when it would be given to me."

"And since your mother's gone," Sookie said quietly, "Appius is the one who decides."

Eric sighed and nodded. "In truth, I pretty much gave up on seeing a penny of the trust fund a long time ago. But, because of the contract I have with Appius now, I'll get access to it when I'm 55—if I've met certain conditions, that is. If not, I'll never get any of it."

He exhaled deeply as if trying to push poison from his lungs. "Appius does like to dangle that trust fund over my head every once in a while though. Of course, Pam and Nora were both already given theirs once they graduated from college, and I certainly understand why Alexei hasn't been given his yet—given his wild streak." He shrugged. "I don't really think about the trust fund anymore—not really. It's better not to. My grandfather, John Northman, left me some additional money and stocks, but I try not to tap into that. I mean—I did use it to help me get through college and to buy a car," he smiled a little. "And I had to use about half of it for the down payment for this house. But I've invested the rest, and I pretty much live on my salary from NP." His tone turned a little bitter. "And I certainly will never see any of Appius's money."

"What do you mean?" Sookie asked, focusing on Eric rather than the opulent space around her.

"My father has made it perfectly clear to me that I am not in his Will. Nora will gain control of Appius's NP shares until Appius, Jr.—I call him A.J., by the way—is old enough. I'll stay on as CEO, but when I'm 55—about the time A.J. is ready to step in—I'm to retire quietly and without complaint."

"What? Wait! You're the eldest. I thought the oldest kid was supposed to be the . . . ," her voice trailed off. "And everyone at the office and in the newspapers calls you the 'heir apparent to the Northman throne.'"

"As I said, everyone is wrong."


	30. New Territory, Part 2

Chapter 30: New Territory, Part 2

Eric let Sookie have a moment to digest what he'd said; the information always left him with a stomachache too—not because he felt he should be the "heir apparent" to anything and not because he wanted Appius's fortune. On the contrary. He'd only ever wanted one thing from his father.

Sookie started and stopped speaking several times, but Eric was the one to break the silence.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked. "I'll tell you more about all of this—if you want—but suddenly I'm feeling the need for a beer. And maybe we could go out onto the balcony—and not just stand in the foyer all night." He chuckled a little—nervously. "It's really beautiful out there. And we still need to go over Claudine's topics too. Then I'll give you the grand tour."

Sookie nodded and took her notebook out of her purse. "Can I leave my purse here?" she asked, as she gestured to one of the chairs.

"Sure," Eric responded, before leading her through what seemed to be a maze of gray, and—though she could tell she was walking through an expensively decorated space—she purposefully didn't study it. She would wait for Eric's tour.

"Is a Newcastle okay?" he asked, as he walked to the end of the long gray room and went to his right. He leaned back out from where he'd gone. "Or a Sam Adams if you want something lighter? Or I have wine—if you prefer. Or just water? Or a Coke?"

"I'll have what you're having," Sookie said with a giggle.

He tilted his head a little in question.

"I've always wanted to say that," she said. "I know you're having a beer, and I'd like one too, and since I haven't tried either of those beers, I don't have a preference. So—I'll have what you're having," she spoke a little triumphantly.

He chuckled and disappeared again, returning quickly with two opened Newcastles. "This is my favorite beer," he said as he handed her one of the bottles and then led her out onto the balcony.

She took a sip and smiled. "I like it."

"I'm glad," he smiled back and then gestured around the good-sized balcony space. "I love coming out here. Because of this building's design, not many of the homes have a balcony. In fact, I'm lucky I got one." He laughed a little—as if at a private joke.

"What?" Sookie asked as she took in the lovely view of the Hudson River before joining him to sit down.

"Pam," Eric chuckled. "When we decided on this building—actually, when she decided on it—there were only two homes available in the tower: this one and the floor right below us. The one below is bigger, but it took her a while to decide whether she wanted to have the balcony or more closet space. She picked the closet space, but she's still a little bitter she couldn't have both."

Sookie giggled.

"In fact," Eric continued, "she won't even come out here. She helped to decorate most of the rest of the house, but she wouldn't touch this. Isabel is actually the one who chose these things," he said, gesturing to the patio furniture. "Before that, there was nothing on this side of the balcony, though I did decorate the other side."

"Oh," Sookie said, as insecurity flashed across her face.

"Oh?"

"Um—it's just that I hadn't thought about you being here with other women." She tried to play off her reaction. "It's nothing. Of course, you would have brought dates here."

"Sookie," Eric said sincerely as he set down his beer and took her free hand, "Isabel and I were never together like that here. I don't bring dates here. I didn't even invite Isabel to my home until after we had decided to be just friends and not lovers—and, even then, she just came as a favor to me."

"A favor?" Sookie asked.

Eric nodded. "Occasionally, my father has me followed."

"Followed?" Sookie asked nervously.

"Don't worry," Eric reassured. "The people he sends are easy to spot, and Henry helps me to keep a lookout for them here. And I'm not followed often."

"Why would Appius have you followed at all then?" she asked.

Eric shrugged. "I've given up trying to understand all of my father's thought processes. I think," he stopped for a moment. "I think that—where I'm concerned—my father is paranoid." He sighed. "He has me followed for a week's time every three months—like he needs a quarterly report or something; maybe it's just to assure himself that I don't have some kind of secret agenda."

"Eric, his actions sound a little crazy," Sookie said carefully. "Do you think he'd hurt you?"

"Not physically," Eric responded, although there was a hint of doubt in his eyes. "God knows that he could have easily done something to me over the years, but he's never raised a hand to me. The spying started when I was in college." He paused. "I think he just wants to know that he can keep tabs on me. But I'm good at avoiding his spies when I want to, and—as I said—Henry helps. Bobby too."

Sookie sighed and took a long drink of her beer.

"You okay?" he asked. "I know the thought of someone watching you bothers you."

"I'm okay," she answered. "You said that you can anticipate when it's going to happen?"

He chuckled a little. "Yeah; it's like clockwork actually—like I'm a part of the business my father wants to keep an eye on. The surveillance even corresponds with when I have to prepare the quarterlies for him for my division: the first full weeks of May, August, November, and February. The spying always starts after I leave work on Monday and ends when I get to work the next Monday. And it's always the same two people that rotate shifts: Sigebert and Wybert. They've worked for my father for decades." Eric smiled wickedly. "Last time, I even set up a few things for them."

"Did you get followed to the MET?" Sookie asked, her eyes suddenly filling with fear.

"No," Eric quickly assured. "On those Sundays, Henry snuck me out and drove me to the museum—and then picked me up later. Meanwhile, Bobby monitored Sigebert and Wybert. Don't worry," he said, stroking her cheek. "When they follow me, they always stick to the same routine when I'm here in the building, and they had no idea I'd left home on those Sundays."

"What's the routine?"

"Sigebert and Wybert have a van that looks like it belongs to the electric company that services this building, though Blake has run the plates and has discovered that they're bogus." Eric chuckled. "A couple of times, they've tried to come into the building to do 'system maintenance,' but—like I said—Henry keeps a tight ship, and they've never been able to get anywhere near my house. In fact, Henry told them that it was policy for the owners to be home and to meet with the technicians when any work was to be done, and they backed off real fast after that. Now, they mostly just stay in the van while I'm inside the house. Their city tags allow them to park in a place where they can monitor both the entrance we used tonight and the exit to the parking garage I use, so they seem pretty content to stay put when they're here."

Sookie took another drink, clearly trying to steady herself. "Why don't you have Blake arrest them?"

"To be honest, I'm used to being followed like that. Like I said, it's been going on for more than a decade. Plus, it's better that it's the Berts," Eric said. "I can tell when they're there, and it's," he paused, "probably smarter to let Appius think he's in control."

She sighed but then nodded. "So—uh—what did you set up for them—the Berts—the last time they followed you?"

"Lots of jogging in the park," Eric responded with a mischievous look in his eyes. "Sigebert and Wybert are both big guys—not out of shape per se, but big—so watching them try to keep up is funny. Bobby follows them when they follow me—actually. And he's gotten some great footage of them gasping for air when I reach about the mile mark."

"So I take it they're not the jogging type?" Sookie observed with a smirk.

"Definitely not," Eric smirked back.

"What else did you set up for them to see?"

"It's been convenient for me to let my father believe that I'm still with Isabel and that we are planning to get engaged at some point. If Appius thinks I'm with her, then he won't try to push others onto me."

"Others like Freyda de Castro?"

Eric nodded. "Exactly. The ruse of our relationship is useful to Isabel too. So she agreed to come over and spend a couple of nights in my guestroom the last time my father had me followed."

"Eric, what if they try to follow you when you're not expecting it? What if your father finds out about me?"

He contemplated for a moment. "So far, Appius has been really predictable in how he observes me, but it would probably be best if we don't come and go together when we're here." He sighed. "The good news is that Sigebert and Wybert aren't exactly subtle. And—even the one time my father sent someone else—I perceived him almost immediately. I am pretty sure I will notice if I'm being tailed, but we'll be careful."

"And you're good at noticing things," Sookie said as she remembered how he took in everything at the MET parties.

"Sookie, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you never appear on my father's radar."

She relaxed a little. "I know." They were silent for a moment. "So—um—I'm really the only—uh—date you've ever brought up here?"

"Yes," Eric said, touching her cheek. "You're the only one."

"But—uh—where did you—uh—never mind," she said as she blushed bright red.

Eric took a deep breath and answered her unspoken question. "As you may know, Northman Tower has several apartments on the top floors. One is available for my—uh—use. One of my father's 'rules' for his children is that they take their," he paused, "casual or clandestine companions there."

"Your father's rules?"

"We are to be discreet." He sighed. "We are to avoid scandal. And Appius is the master of that. As you know already, my father prefers men, but that fact has never made a single tabloid, though many members of the upper crust of society have their suspicions about his proclivities."

"So he—uh—wants you and Pam and Nora to be discreet too?"

Eric nodded. "And Alexei got shipped overseas when he couldn't. Appius was always one to spend quality time with certain 'business associates.' But now, I think he's pretty committed to Andre. Either way—he has always maintained discretion with his affairs."

"Andre is his wife's brother—right," Sookie commented, rather than questioned.

"Yeah."

"Does she know they're together?"

"Sophie-Anne endorses the match," Eric responded. "Theirs is a marriage of convenience only."

"And Pam and Sophie-Anne are—uh—lovers? I mean—I saw Pam talking to her on the phone once, and I picked up what it was about," Sookie said with a blush.

"Yes," Eric answered. "They are on and off again lovers, but they, too, are discreet. One must not allow the press to know of one's affairs," he added, taking on a gruffer tone, obviously in imitation of his father.

"Is that part of your father's rule?"

"Yeah. But, to be honest, this place," he said gesturing toward the building, "is my sanctuary from everything—so that is a rule I would have followed anyway. The apartment at Northman Tower was, therefore, convenient to me."

"But I'm here," Sookie said with a little smile, "not there."

"We've already established that you are different—very much so," Eric said as he brought her hand up to his lips and gave her palm a gentle kiss.

"And you're different with me," she whispered.

"Very much so," he smiled as she flushed pink again. Even in the dim light that the edge of the city afforded, she was more glorious than the sun to him. "You are the most amazing woman—person—I have ever known," he whispered, his voice indicating something akin to awe.

Unused to receiving compliments, Sookie's blush deepened, and she quickly changed the subject.

"So—uh—you were saying before that Appius left you out of his Will? But you are going to be taking over Northman Publishing soon—at least that's the rumor. Why would he cut you out of his Will? You're his oldest child."

"As I said before, understanding my father is not something I try to do anymore. Suffice it to say that my father wishes I'd never been born." Eric sighed. "My mormor insists that he was very much in love with my mother when they married and that he distanced himself from me because of grief after she died. The story that I heard from my mormor and morfar for most of my life was that Appius couldn't stand to spend much time with me because I reminded him so much of Stella—my mom."

"But that's not what you think?"

"No," Eric said as if the world had just landed on his shoulders. "I used to hope that was the case, but I know better now," he added enigmatically.

They were silent for a few moments before Eric spoke again. "However, I do believe that Appius loved my mother once—at least her ability to help him climb to the highest ranks of the New York social scene. From what I've heard, my mother was," he paused, "a singularity."

"A singularity?"

Eric nodded. "Even now—even though she's been dead for more than twenty-five years—people who knew her still come up to me at parties or events just to talk about her. They tell me how much I look like her, or they tell me about something nice she did for them. I don't really remember her, so it's good to hear little snippets about her life. Russell Edgington called her a 'force of nature' once—and said she was both the loveliest and the strongest human being he'd ever met. She's remembered both for her kind-heartedness and for her ability to set trends in society." He sighed. "Other than from my father and his mother, I've never heard anything negative about her, which is an oddity in and of itself—especially given the often back-stabbing nature of New York high society." He scoffed a little. "Generally people not from New York are never truly accepted by the establishment; however, my father's been lucky in that regard—first with my mother and now with Sophie-Anne. His other two wives both had New York pedigrees." He paused. "Of course, growing up as she did, my mother had already learned how to fit in with the elite of Europe."

"Was her family rich too?" Sookie asked.

"Yes. My mother's father, Johan Larsson, was quite wealthy, and he and mormor had only one child, my mother. He also ran a large publishing firm in Sweden—with a lot of European clientele. My morfar decided to retire a few years after my mother and father married, and Appius absorbed most of the clientele, keeping the offices in Sweden open—according to my morfar's wishes."

"Are they still open?"

Eric shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Larsson Publishing is gone now. After I graduated from business school, my father let me take over the international arm of Northman Publishing—which still included Larsson Publishing at the time. Appius called it a test."

"A test?"

"Yeah—Larsson still made decent money, but it wasn't growing; I was supposed to make sure it did. Appius said that if profits weren't up significantly in two quarters, I would need to find a solution, or Larsson Publishing would be closed," Eric added bitterly.

"So he gave you a test that he didn't think you'd pass," Sookie guessed.

"Yeah, but it was more than that," Eric said ambiguously, picking up his beer with his free hand and taking a big gulp of it. "Unbeknownst to me, he didn't have the power to liquidate Larsson Publishing. Of course—at the time—I didn't want to believe that my own father was setting me up to fail. I did my best with Larsson, but," his voice trailed off, "the economy was so bad then."

Sookie lightly squeezing his hand. "What happened?"

"I quickly realized that it would be impossible for me to keep Larsson Publishing open in Sweden—if Appius's profit requirements were to be met. I tried to find a way, but," he paused, "I failed." He sighed heavily. "The operating costs were simply too high. Out of other options and almost out of time, I submitted a plan for Larsson to be dissolved and officially merged with Northman Publishing. I was even able to entice some of the best employees at Larsson to move here. I projected that my plan would increase the profits of the international division by over twenty percent—which was more than enough to meet my father's requirements."

"Did your father go for your plan?"

"Yeah," Eric said. "He seemed enthusiastic about my projections—proud of me even. At the time, I thought he was happy because the merger would increase profits and make the international division of NP more efficient." He sighed. "It turned out that Appius was happy because he'd manipulated me to get exactly what he'd been wanting all along—a merger. And he got to hurt me too in the process—so that was his real bonus."

"How?"

"It's a long story," Eric sighed, "but initially the hurt came because of the name of my morfar's company."

"The name?"

"Yeah. As part of my proposal, I asked that the name Larsson be retained for the European division of Northman Publishing once the official merger happened. My grandfather's name is still well-respected, especially in Northern Europe, which was why so many clients had stuck with us there. I hoped that Appius would agree out of respect to the man who had entrusted him with stewardship of his company for so many years."

"But Appius didn't agree to that?" Sookie half-asked and half-stated.

"No, he did not," Eric said in a somewhat detached tone. "My mormor was crushed, but she took the disappointment as she takes everything—with grace. She was just thankful that many of the employees who had been with morfar's company for so long would be able to keep their jobs—even if they had to relocate to do it."

Sookie sighed. "So Appius intentionally put you into a situation where you'd be hurt. I would ask why, but after having a mother like mine, I've learned that there is no satisfying answer to that question."

"Amen to that," Eric said with a slight smile as he tapped his bottle with Sookie's in a toast.

The pair was silent as the sound of a boat's loud horn drifted up from the Hudson. "So—uh—who gets all of Appius's money then?" Sookie asked after a few minutes. "I mean—I know that your father is supposedly the richest man in New York. Is that right?"

"That's a slight exaggeration," Eric responded as he finished his beer. "David Koch has more—Bloomberg too. But Appius is the eighteenth richest man in the United States according to last year's data. In addition to the publishing company, he has tons of high-yield real estate investments. He also owns several oil platforms in the Gulf of Mexico and about ten percent of Exxon. And let's just say that, during the past twenty years or so, he's taken a special interest in hedge funds."

Sookie let out a long exhalation that sounded almost like a whistle.

"Appius has multiple children, but all my forebears in this country had only one child—always a son. And those sons always added to the wealth accumulated by my great-great grandfather. That wealth was never split as it was passed down."

Eric took a deep breath. "And—then add to that the money and property left to Appius after my grandmother Grace's parents died. And then there's the fact that Beth, Nora's mother, was a distant cousin of Warren Buffett, whom Appius now has on speed dial for advice. Appius has rocketed up the list of the world's richest people in the last two decades. In fact, he could lose ten billion dollars and still have more than ten to fall back on." Eric put down his empty bottle and raked his hand through his hair. "I'll give Appius credit where it's due though. He's filthy rich, but he still works really hard at NP. Most of the investments he has are overseen by his lawyers, and—even though NP isn't his most profitable venture anymore—it's clear that he loves it most."

"His flagship," Sookie observed.

"Precisely. And—though Appius lives large—his modus operandi is to reinvest most of what he makes so that he can keep building up his empire."

"The rich keep getting richer," Sookie sighed.

Eric nodded in agreement. "And—as for who will inherit it all? I'm not a hundred percent sure. My guess is that Nora and Appius, Jr. will get the lion's share of the estate. Alexei will be taken care of—of course. Pam and Gracie too—at least I hope. And Sophie-Anne will receive a substantial amount, especially now that she's provided Appius with a son worthy enough for his flagship as well as a live-in lover who doesn't draw suspicion from the press."

"But not his eldest son?" Sookie half-asked and half-stated.

"No," Eric responded.

"Well—that sucks."

He chuckled. "Actually—I don't give a fuck about Appius's money. My salary at NP is more than enough for me. I get to live in this beautiful home in a city that I enjoy. And—when Appius leaves me alone—I really do like my job." He shrugged. "Appius exchanged my silver spoon with a tin one so long ago that having silver again would just," he paused, "taste strange at this point."

They were silent for a moment as Eric's thumb stroked Sookie's palm.

"Do you think your father would ever fire you?" she asked after swallowing a sip of her drink.

"Because of our contract, he can't." Eric sighed. "But I can't quit either."

"But you would," Sookie said, her tone conveying a little surprise.

"I have come to love NP, but I would leave in a second if I could. Starting over—even if I could no longer work in the publishing field—would be better than living under Appius's yoke," Eric said in almost a whisper.

"He's using the contract to control you."

Eric nodded. "When I turn 55, however, I will have fulfilled my part of the deal, and—after that—I'll be free of him."

"And before then?" she asked. "I mean—can't you get out of the contract?"

"You don't want to know what he could do to me if I did," he said ominously—dismally.

"That bad?"

"Worse."


	31. The River Deep

Chapter 31: The River Deep

"So you'll do what he wants," Sookie observed.

Eric nodded.

"Could Appius break the contract?"

"Yes," Eric responded. "Either one of us could break it, but the penalty would be ten billion dollars."

"Which Appius could lose and still have more than ten billion to fall back on," Sookie sighed, repeating Eric's earlier words. "But you couldn't pay that amount?"

Eric shook his head. "No—barely a fraction of it." He sighed. "And—since I couldn't pay the penalty—I'd be brought up on charges of theft, charges to which I would have to admit guilt."

"But you'd be guilty of only breach of contract—not theft!"

"But I would have to admit to stealing from NP nonetheless," Eric said flatly. "I would go to prison."

"But you wouldn't have stolen anything from NP," Sookie said slowly, even as she tried to process what Eric was telling her.

"No—but I would be required to plead guilty to false charges all the same."

Sookie shook her head. "But how could Appius make you do that?"

"He has many things held over my head," Eric said, his tone dejected. "And—if I breached the contract—his punishment for me wouldn't stop with my imprisonment."

They were silent for a moment.

"Who would he hurt?" Sookie asked softly.

Eric closed his eyes tightly. "Your question should be 'how many'?"

"How many?"

"A hundred and four," he whispered.

"You made the contract with him hoping to protect those hundred and four," Sookie stated with realization in her tone.

Eric nodded. "Mostly. It was only seventy-three people then, but yes."

Again, there were a few minutes of silence between them as Sookie took in what he'd told her. She wanted to ask "who" again, but she realized she already knew who Appius would target: the people Eric cared about the most—his grandmother, his siblings, Bobby, the people that worked for him. She also realized that the "who" didn't actually matter. The man sitting before her would have sacrificed himself for strangers.

After taking a large drink, she spoke, "But Appius could break the contract and pay you off if he chose."

Eric nodded. "I wish he would, but he won't willingly put me out of my misery." He chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "He does enjoy toying with my hopes, however."

"What do you mean?"

"He wouldn't even have to pay me off," Eric chuckled ruefully. "He put an escape clause into the contract."

"An escape clause?"

He nodded. "My thirty-fifth birthday—from midnight to 11:59 p.m. On that day, either one of us could dissolve the contract without owing the ten billion."

Sookie bit her lip. "But if you broke it, he'd still . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Yes," Eric sighed, "there's still a whole litany of punishments waiting for me if I break the contract by using the escape clause."

"He knows you wouldn't use it," Sookie gasped, grasping why Appius would have such a thing added to the contract. "That means that the escape clause is there for one of three reasons," she whispered.

"I've thought of three possibilities too," Eric said smiling at her a little. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and she immediately hated it.

She spoke quickly, as if she were ripping a Band-Aid off. "One—he's going to evoke the 'escape clause' if he finds someone 'better' to be CEO."

Eric nodded. "He's always wanted Nora to take over, but she doesn't want the job—never has. She's not bad at her own job—as long as someone is there to oversee her—but running the whole company would be too much for her. Plus, she's just too lazy to do it—truth be told. I respect the fact that she recognizes her own limitations."

"But if she changes her mind, Appius could just take the position away from you without having to pay the ten billion," Sookie commented.

"Yeah," Eric said. "I used to be ambivalent about her changing her mind. I mean—I don't think she'd run the company well, and I don't want it to falter; too many people's livelihoods are at stake. Plus—to be honest—part of me really wants to run NP—to see what I'm capable of," he sighed," or maybe just to prove to Appius that I can do it well." He paused. "But lately, I've been hoping that Nora will decide she wants to be CEO."

Sookie sniffled and nodded, knowing that her coming into Eric's life had changed what he wanted for his future.

They were silent for a moment.

"The second possibility," she said, biting her lip, "is that Appius never intended for you to be CEO at all and that he's always been planning to use the 'escape clause.'"

Eric nodded. "Yeah—that way he could string me along before yanking it away. After all, he could likely run NP for another twenty years without breaking a sweat. I'm not even sure why he's contemplating retiring." He shrugged. "Some nights I convince myself that he's not planning to retire at all—that the contract is just an elaborate way for him to keep me miserable for a longer period of time."

"And that part of you hopes that he'll cut you loose."

He nodded. "But—to be honest—I don't think either of those two possibilities is why Appius put in the 'escape clause.'"

"You think he put it there just to mess with your mind," she observed.

"Yeah—he'd know that it'd give me some glimmer of hope that he'd break the contract."

"And the best kind of torture is having hope ripped away," Sookie said quietly—knowingly.

Eric nodded. "Appius knows that I wouldn't use the 'escape clause'," he sighed. "It's true that not having to admit to a bogus charge of theft would keep me out of a white-collar prison, but if that were the only thing that he was holding over my head . . . ."

"I know," Sookie responded, squeezing his hand. "You'd take the prison sentence over being at your father's mercy."

"Gladly." Eric's lower lip quivered a little as he looked out toward the water.

"If he did break the contract—or use the 'escape clause' built into it—do you think Appius would cut you off from the company, as well as your brothers and sisters, completely?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. "He'd try. But if Appius was the one to break it, I'd retain the stock I already have in NP, and I'd get the trust fund. So he actually couldn't force me to cut ties—not completely. Pam would likely stay in contact with me; she's rebellious enough for that. And maybe my sister Gracie would too. Maybe even Alexei."

"How much NP stock do you have?"

"Seven percent," Eric answered. He ran his hand through his hair and looked back at her. "I inherited my shares of NP immediately upon my twenty-first birthday. They came directly from my paternal grandfather, who disapproved of the way Appius dealt with me. But seven percent is not enough to make me that influential on the Board of Directors." He sighed. "And after my twenty-year term as CEO expires, the contract requires that I sell any remaining stock I have to my father or his appointee."

"What will you do then?" Sookie asked. "You will have worked so many years for a company that you'll just get cut out of," she added as a tear drifted down her cheek.

He shrugged as he gently brushed her tear away. "I'll live with that and count myself lucky if—once I've fulfilled my end of the contract—Appius no longer wants anything to do with me. Perhaps—by then—he will have even tired of causing me pain. Like I said, I wish he'd just leave me alone. If he broke the contract right now, I'd forfeit the ten billion dollar penalty, my trust fund, my stock—everything I have—in a heartbeat. Just to be free of him. Especially now."

"But Appius won't let you go—even though he seems to hate you."

Eric nodded. "Because he hates me. He knows that being free is what I want, so that means that it's the last thing Appius would allow." He shook his head and sighed. "Appius is practical. I will be a good placeholder—you see. And—if I didn't become CEO of NP—it would seem peculiar, and rumors might start."

"And Appius doesn't like scandals."

"Precisely." He sighed. "But it's not all bad. I do want to run the company. And—since I'm to step down at 55—I'll still be relatively young. I'll be able to do what I want for the first time. And I certainly can't begrudge my baby brother for being Appius's preference to take over when I step down. Hell—I would have likely chosen A.J. as my successor anyway—contract or no—if that was what he wanted."

"And if you have kids?" Sookie asked.

"I have to," Eric responded quietly. "According to the contract, I have to have at least one child. And I'm pretty sure Appius will try to control him or her too."

"But you won't let him?" Sookie asked.

"No," Eric replied firmly. "I'm going to," he paused, "accept my children and let them lead whatever lives they choose, even if that doesn't go along with Appius's wishes."

"But you don't get to live the life you want," she said sadly.

"No. I will not be able to have the life I want," he responded softly, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek lightly before drawing it away. He closed his eyes. "My father's vision for me is clear. By the time I'm thirty-five, I'm to begin studding more Northmans with someone my father deems appropriate. But my main function is to build up the Northman legacy for the son my father deems worthy—his child with Sophie-Anne."

Sookie took a deep breath and shivered a little.

"I'm sorry," Eric said, opening his eyes again. Sookie could see the guilt in them. "I shouldn't make you—of all people—listen to me talk about my father's marriage and breeding program for me."

"It's okay. I need to hear all this. I need to keep my eyes open to what's going to come."

"You can still change your mind," Eric whispered, even as fear etched itself onto his handsome face.

"I know," she said just as softly, "but I'm not going to, Eric. I'd rather have a year, a month, a week, or even just a day with you than have nothing."

Eric felt hot tears enter the corners of his eyes. Before that day, he'd not cried since his mormor called him at boarding school to tell him that his morfar had died. And, even then, he'd waited until he was alone in his room. But with Sookie—in the safety of her presence—he'd already cried twice in just one day.

The two said nothing for a few moments, opting instead to gaze into each other's eyes.

"I like having you here," Eric finally said.

"I like being here," she returned.

Eric smiled as Sookie looked out toward the Hudson again. His eyes followed hers and settled upon the water as well. The city was generally noisy, but from his home, he had always been able to concentrate on the tranquility of the water and the lights on the New Jersey side of the river.

He was surprised that he wasn't surprised by how open he'd been with Sookie about his father and the contract. He'd not told her everything; after all, there was too much to tell for one sitting. But he had no doubt that he would tell her everything; with her he felt no reason to hide or to hold back. However, talking to her had made him feel both better and worse about the situation. He felt worse because he was reminded that he would one day hurt the one human being who seemed to fully "get" him. On the other hand, he felt better because she was still there with him; she'd not been scared away by the things he'd told her.

She'd not left him.

Eric squeezed Sookie's hand lightly as they continued looking at the Hudson. He was glad that he and Sookie had decided to spend their first night together as an official couple in his home for several reasons. First and foremost, Amelia had texted Sookie while they were at the restaurant to tell her that she would be home that night, so the little private nest that they'd enjoyed in Brooklyn would be disappearing with the arrival of Sookie's friend/housemate. Second, Eric was going to be working from home for much of the next few days and nights. He needed to finish up a deal with a Chinese publisher, Guangzhou Press; NP was set to print a substantial number of texts that had never been translated into English before, and he'd be on conference calls for the next few nights to finalize things.

To Eric's great delight, Sookie had been able to take off the first three days of the week after sending a quick text to Sam Merlotte. Merlotte had been urging her to "play hooky" due to the glut of vacation days and sick days she'd accumulated since starting at Northman Publishing. She was also well-ahead of all of her deadlines.

The thought of having Sookie mostly to himself for several days left him tingling. The only times she planned to be away from him until Thursday were when she went to Brooklyn the next morning to get some clothes and when she met with Claudine on Tuesday evening. And he could busy himself with prepping for his phone meetings during those times.

He hardened slightly at the thought that Sookie wouldn't be needing much in the way of clothing for the next few days if he had anything to say about it. His work with Guangzhou Press wouldn't take up a lot of his time since he was already well-prepared for his meetings; in fact, he'd been to China two times during the previous three months to negotiate the main elements of the partnership; all that was left was the minutia.

Thus, he planned to enjoy Sookie over and over again.

But before he could do that, he knew that she had some things to speak to him about—questions given to her by Claudine―and knowing that Sookie was still fragile in many ways, he was determined to give her the chance to ask them before he pounced on her, though not pouncing was difficult, especially given how beautiful she looked as her eyes followed the boats moving smoothly over the dark water.

"Do you want another beer? And then you can ask your questions?" he asked, gesturing toward the notebook next to her.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Uh—can I use your bathroom?"

He smiled. "Of course." He stood up, pulling her with him, before leading her into the house and then back through the gray area and into the foyer again. They walked to the other side of the elevator. "Here we are. I'll just grab those beers for us."

"Thanks," Sookie smiled as she handed him her empty beer bottle when he reached to take it.

As she stepped into the guest bathroom, she let out a big exhalation.

"Oh my," she said to herself, taking in the luxury around her. There were two sinks with matching mirrors over them, but the main thing she noticed about the bathroom was the tub/shower, which was unlike anything she'd ever used before. The tub was round and obviously a whirlpool. There was a circular track for a shower curtain to enclose the space if the bather opted to use the waterfall shower, but the curtains were currently tied back neatly. The space was decorated in white and a coppery shade of brown.

Sookie was glad to find that the toilet worked pretty much like any other she'd ever sat on and wondered briefly how Eric kept everything so spotless. She decided that he must have a maid as she used a pristine white towel to dry her hands.

She exited the bathroom and retraced her steps in the direction Eric had brought her. Once more in the field of gray, she heard noise coming from what had to be the kitchen, so she followed it and found Eric rummaging through the very large refrigerator to her right.

The kitchen carried on the gray color scheme of most of the other rooms she'd been in, but it was much lighter—almost blue-gray in hue. "Geez!" she exclaimed. "You have the biggest kitchen I've ever seen!"

He chuckled and brought a few items to the counter, closing the refrigerator door with his foot as he turned around.

"It mostly goes unused, I'm afraid, though Pam thought the size was necessary for parties." He grinned. "You should see Mormor when she visits. I swear I gain ten pounds when she's here. Even Pam can't resist her pannkakor; those are like sweet pancakes."

Sookie smiled. "Gran would have a field-day in here too. Heck! I could have a field-day!"

"Are you offering to cook for me, Miss Stackhouse?" Eric asked as he put together a plate with different cheeses and some crackers.

"If you're lucky," she smiled back.

"Oh I hope to be very lucky tonight," he said naughtily.

Immediately, Sookie was blushing a bright red.

"You hungry—uh—for food?" she stammered as she gestured toward the plate he was putting together.

"Always," he chuckled, still looking just as mischievous.

"How is it that you even have food here? You've been with me all week," she said, trying to change the topic.

He winked at her. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, his eyebrow rising.

"Yeah," she said with a grin of her own.

"Henry."

"As in Henry from downstairs?"

Eric nodded and chuckled. "His sister—actually. Thalia was looking for a little extra income since she doesn't have a fulltime job. She comes here twice a week and cleans. She drops off and picks up my dry cleaning and does the grocery shopping too. I email her a list each week, but she sneaks in some healthy stuff too." He smiled. "I think you'll like her. She's quite the badass, actually. Like Henry, she used to be in the Navy—until her husband, an NYPD cop, died in the line of duty." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Her husband was Blake's partner; Blake introduced them—I think." He exhaled deeply. "Thalia was deployed when her husband was shot; he was killed instantly. Talia's kids moved in with Henry and Blake, and Thalia joined them as soon as she could."

"That's horrible!" Sookie cried, imagining how difficult losing her husband like that must have been for Thalia.

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "Thankfully, she got a discharge from the Navy before her tour was up. She's been living in the building for about two years and has been helping me out for most of them."

"Do you know what she did in the Navy?"

"She was a transport pilot and a computer specialist."

"And now she cleans your house?" Sookie asked incredulously.

Eric grinned and nodded. "She told me that she's happy for the easy cash after serving in the Navy for almost ten years. Can't say I blame her. And," his eyes took on a playful glint, "she makes a hospital corner like nobody's business!"

Sookie laughed and grabbed the beers while he picked up the plate of snacks that she knew he'd eat the lion's share of.

"Plus, she mostly just wants something stress-free to do a couple of days a week to keep herself busy when her kids are at school. She also helps Henry out part-time with the security system in the building; occasionally, she does door duty in the tower when someone's sick since Henry keeps even guard access to this part of the building limited to a small group. The core guards are Rasul and Tray as well as four others: Miranda, Jarod, Calvin, and Terry. All of them are ex-military, except for Jarod, who used to be a cop in Philadelphia before he moved to New York."

Sookie openly the door to the balcony and led Eric back to their seats.

He continued, "Shortly after she started working for me, Thalia asked me to help her invest her husband's pension and his life insurance money for their children. Not having to pay rent, she's able to live off of what she makes from her part-time stuff and gets to spend a lot of time with her kids—both to make up for their father being gone and because she missed a lot of their early lives when she was deployed."

"How old are her kids?" Sookie asked.

"Seven and ten now—if I remember right."

As they settled back into their seats and enjoyed the still warm—but not too warm—June night, they snacked for a few minutes, content to enjoy the view in silence.

Finally, Sookie took hold of her courage and picked up her notebook. She tensed as she saw Eric tense. They both looked at each other and laughed a little as Eric set aside the now empty plate.

"Questions from my shrink got you nervous?" she quipped, even as she chewed on her own lip rather nervously.

"Absolutely," he responded with a chuckle.

"Me too," she admitted as her cheeks pinkened. "Some of them are—uh—things that Claudine says I have to ask even though I know they'll—um—embarrass me."

"Maybe—one day," Eric said seriously, "you and I will have no reason to be embarrassed around each other."

She looked at him, smiled, and nodded. "I hope so."

"Though I will miss your blush," he smiled back, causing that blush to deepen. He chuckled. "Okay—I'm ready. Hit me with the first question."

"Well," Sookie said, taking a deep breath, "most of these questions are things Claudine says we need to decide on as a couple."

"Okay," Eric said again.

"Okay," she responded nervously. "The first questions relate to sex."

He nodded, encouraging her to go ahead.

"I'm not on birth control right now," she said biting her lip. "But I made an appointment with a GYN on Wednesday morning to get on the pill. But I got tested after—uh—Bill, and I'm clean. So—uh—I'm supposed to ask you about your sexual history now," she continued fretfully as she bit her lip. "Not that I want all of your history. I just need to know your," she looked down at the paper, "report card."

"Report card?" he asked.

"That's what Claudine called it," she responded sheepishly.

Eric smiled a little. "I get tested every two months or so, and I've always used condoms. My latest test results were negative, and I haven't been with anyone since then, but—to be sure—I'll get another round done before we even think about not using condoms. By then, maybe the pill will be in effect for you?" he asked hopefully; he was biting his lip this time.

"What?" she asked as she saw the anticipative expression on his face.

"I've never had a monogamous relationship before, so I've never considered having sex without a condom," he said, closing his eyes tightly before reopening them and getting lost in the river of her eyes. "But the thought of doing that with you is doing things to me," he added gruffly.

"Oh," Sookie sounded, turning even redder. "Well," she said, trying to pull herself together, "I'll get tested again too. Bill used condoms with me. But—uh—I don't have any with me. I don't carry them. Do you have some?"

Eric nodded.

"Okay," Sookie said apprehensively, looking back down at her list of questions, "so we'll use condoms until we're both tested again and the pill is in full working mode."

"Sounds good," he said, leaning forward and taking her hand, only to notice that his own was shaking a little.

She closed her eyes and her forehead wrinkled with worry.

"What is it, Sookie?" he asked with obvious concern.

"The next question makes me more nervous than the others," she almost whimpered.

"Would you like for me to read it?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "It's number two on the list," she managed.

Eric leaned forward and looked at the page. The question he saw there broke his heart a little. It read, "Will I be expected to leave after we have sex? Or—if it is at my house—will you leave after it is over?"

"Sookie," he said gently, taking her chin in his hand so that she would have to look at him, "there might be nights when we are apart for a variety of reasons, but not after we have sex and not if I can help it at all. I want to sleep with you in my arms as much as I can—just as I have been doing this past week. Whether we have sex or not is immaterial. I want—I need—you with me."

Immediately she looked relieved, even though her blush was back. "Okay—then. That works for me."

"Okay then," he answered with a smile. He brushed his fingers over her cheekbone. "What other questions do you have for me, Sookie?"

She took in a deep breath as she leaned into his touch. "Uh—who will know about us? Who will we tell?"

He took a breath and considered her question. "I would like to tell Pam and my mormor. Neither of them will say anything to my father. And Henry will soon guess how much you mean to me, but he'll keep the other guards here from saying anything to anyone else."

"You're sure of that?"

Eric nodded. "I'll get Bobby to run background checks on them, but Henry hires only people he knows well to guard the tower. I know that both Trey and Terry served tours with him. And Rasul was a Ranger and grew up in the same neighborhood as Trey. I think Calvin was Thalia's drill instructor in basic training. And Miranda was in the Coast Guard and was a childhood friend of Blake's. And Jarod is married to Miranda now. It's a very close-knit group."

Sookie giggled. "I'll say."

Eric relished in the sound of her laughter.

"I'd like to be able to tell Amelia and Gran," she said, biting her lip again.

"What of your friend Lafayette?" Eric asked.

"He's too big of a gossip, and he may have heard of you," she smiled.

Eric chuckled. "Okay—so no telling the gossip."

Sookie's smile faded a little. "And—uh—do you want to tell Isabel?"

"She probably won't need to know," Eric answered carefully, "but if we eventually need to tell her, she'll keep our secret. And—of course—Claudine will know."

"And Thalia," Sookie commented.

Eric chuckled. "Yes, Thalia will ferret out the information quickly."

"And the people at the museum," Sookie said.

"Ben will keep his crew in line," Eric assured. "If any of them were interested in selling the story, I would have already been labeled a stalker in the tabloids.

She giggled. "Your courtship methods are a little strange, Northman."

He chuckled. "What's the next question, Stackhouse?"

She bit her lip. "That's it. But now I'm supposed to ask if you have any questions for me," she said nervously.

It seemed that a thousand questions went through Eric's mind, for in that moment, Sookie Stackhouse intrigued him like no other, and he wanted to know everything about her.

Everything.

Discovering the answers to those questions—every damned one of them—was something to look forward to.

But for right then, Eric settled on one question and prayed that he'd have enough time to ask all the others before their bubble burst.

"May I kiss you, Sookie?"

Unconsciously, she moistened her lips as she looked at him with big eyes. Midnight blue in the dim light—as deep as the river they'd been staring at earlier.

"Yes," she answered in a raspy whisper.

He leaned in slowly—carefully—as if she might disappear if he didn't.

But she didn't disappear. Instead she leaned toward him.


	32. Emotion in Motion, Part 1

Chapter 32: Emotion in Motion, Part 1

"Sex is emotion in motion."—Mae West

Sookie wasn't sure what had happened to the half-full beer bottle that had been in her hand—or to her notebook for that matter—and, to be honest, she really didn't care. All she could think about at that moment were Eric's lips on hers, his hands roaming her body, and his tongue dancing with hers.

"Sookie," he panted as he began trailing kisses from her chin to her neck. She answered him by running her hands over any part of his body that she could reach—his broad shoulders, his long neck, his soft hair. Feeling greedy and wanting his lips on hers again, she pulled him back up from his ministrations on her shoulder, where he'd pushed her cardigan down a bit in order to expose more of her flesh.

His eyes locked onto hers for a moment before he kissed her again. They'd kissed a lot during the previous week, but this was more frenzied—almost savage in its intense need—and Sookie realized just how much he'd been holding back until she'd made her decision. That insight just made her want him more, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss, finding that she couldn't get enough of the way he tasted.

When he tipped back a little on his heels and then stood up, she realized for the first time that he'd been crouching down in front of her. Her arms clasped around his neck tightly, she felt herself standing with him, not willing to break their kiss. He moved his hands under her bottom and picked her up. In turn, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he started for the patio door, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.

She felt herself being shifted a bit as he used a hand to open the patio door. She took that opportunity to kiss his cheek. Then she found, kissed, nibbled, and sucked his earlobe, which elicited something that sounded like a bona fide growl from him. He closed the door with his foot, and then his steps became purposeful and long as he carried her through his large house toward his master bedroom.

Sookie was too busy making sure that his other earlobe got the same growl-inducing treatment that its complement had received to notice much about her surroundings. Getting the sound she wanted, she smiled against his cheek.

"What?" he asked in a raspy tone even as he seemed to hurry his pace.

"I thought I was gonna get the tour," she fake-pouted, kissing at his hairline and then down to his neck.

"We're starting in the bedroom," he returned gruffly.

In the next moment, he was lowering her onto the most comfortable mattress she'd ever lain on, but she didn't break eye contact with him as he stood up next to the bed. His own blue orbs were predatory and ravenous as he began to unbutton his casual white shirt.

"Let me," she said in a lust-filled haze as she got up on her knees and scooted over to him. He moved his hands to caress her hair as she brought her own trembling hands to the first button.

She honestly didn't know whether she was shaking with anxiety or desire, and she didn't care. All she cared about was getting his damned shirt off so that she could touch his smooth, well-formed chest.

After she finished her task, she ran her fingers softly along the bare flesh that her unbuttoning had revealed, all the way from his abs to his chest, before sliding her hands to his shoulders and slipping the shirt over them. He quickly helped her get the garment off of him before doing the same to her yellow cardigan, which she'd put on in the restaurant and which he'd wanted to take off ever since because it had hidden her silky shoulders from him.

He moaned as her hands came down to the button of his jeans. Her fingers shaking much less now, she made quick work of that closure before unzipping the garment and sliding her hands over his hips, even as she brought her lips to his chest.

"I want to see you, Eric—all of you," she whispered before taking his nipple into her mouth and sucking gently.

"Fuck, Sookie," Eric said as she swirled her tongue over one of the more sensitive places on his body. "Bite—just a little. Please."

She smiled and obeyed, enjoying the reaction that she drew from him.

Meanwhile, Eric was trying to obey her request; he kicked off his sandals and tried not to dislodge her from his chest as he finished removing his jeans. He was now in only his boxer-briefs, which she'd seen him in every night for the last week. However, this time, he was doing nothing to hide his erection from her.

Sookie gasped and looked up just in time to see a little flicker of pride in his desire-laden eyes.

"Like what you see?" he asked.

"I've seen you in these before," she rasped out.

"Would you like to see more?" he asked, his eyebrow arching.

"Yes," she murmured as she ran her hands down his chest to the band at the top of his dark gray undergarment. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pushed down his underwear slowly. When her progress was stopped by his hard cock battling against the fabric, he reached down to release himself before she slid the boxer-briefs down his hips until they fell to the floor. He stepped out of them and watched Sookie as she slowly lowered her eyes to take him in.

He knew that he was bigger than most men, but he had never been overly arrogant about that fact—probably because his size hadn't always been an asset.

For instance, it had been damned hard—quite literally—for him to hide his erection in Mrs. Slattery's eighth grade science class. Every guy in the class had had a crush on Mrs. Slattery, and all of them admitted to being "uncomfortable" in class. However, Eric had received much bullying that year because he couldn't hide his "discomfort" from either his classmates or his teacher any more than he could control his raging teen hormones.

Nope. Being bigger was not always better. Plus, he'd discovered early on in his sexual experiences that the size of his cock could be uncomfortable for some women, so he'd had to learn to be careful.

Still, Eric couldn't help his brief moment of arrogance and pride as Sookie's nose flared with desire. However, that moment was over as soon as she took his member into her cool hands.

She was tentative with her actions, seemingly studying him, as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and began to move them up and down.

"Oh God," Eric groaned out, feeling his knees buckle a little because of her ministrations.

Her explorations continued as she brought her fingers to the tip of his cock, gathering the pre-cum seeping out of his body onto her fingers.

"Does this feel good?" she asked.

"Yes," he growled.

He watched her hooded eyes as she brought the evidence of his arousal to her lips and tasted him. His own lips were on hers moments later as any ideas he'd had of being patient flew out of his mind. His fingers found the tie of the halter top of her dress, and soon, he had it unfastened. He began to kiss downward to her neck as he found the zipper at the side of the dress and lowered it. He grabbed the fabric at the bottom of the garment and pulled upward, praising every god that he could think of that Sookie seemed to be of the same mind as he was and was helping him to remove the suddenly burdensome fabric.

As soon as her dress cleared her head, he flung it to the other side of the room and then made quick work of her strapless bra, never wanting a scrap of material to separate them again as his greedy eyes took in her perfect breasts. He'd felt them pressed against his chest as they'd embraced before, but now that he was seeing them, his mouth gaped.

"Eric?" she asked in question, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

"Beautiful," he said, taking both of her breasts gently into his hands. As he began to work them, Sookie groaned and lay back on the bed—Eric trailing right after her and lying down next to her. His lips soon moved to one of her breasts. He nipped and sucked her nipple languorously before trailing kisses to the other one and doing the same to it.

"Eric," she whispered urgently as she arched her back to create more contact.

"So beautiful, Sookie," he murmured into her flesh as he began to trail kisses down her body until he reached the waistband of her panties. His fingers had already paved the way for his mouth, and he growled as he rubbed her folds over her undergarment.

"So wet," he breathed. "God, I love that you're so wet for me."

Sookie shivered at the feeling of his touch as well as his words.

"Please, Eric," she begged, not really even understanding what she was begging for. She'd never felt anything even remotely like what she was now feeling. "I'm burning—burning," she panted, trying to put words to the desperation that Eric was provoking in her.

Thankfully, Eric seemed to understand exactly what she needed as he pulled her soaked panties off of her body and then settled between her legs.

"Beautiful," he murmured as he began to stroke her folds once more. "You're so beautiful," he said yet again, his voice full of emotion and his eyes burning with what he knew were tears.

"Perfect," he added as he began to draw his fingers up and down her slit, enjoying the way that she was moaning and mewling under his ministrations. He purposely avoided her clit for a moment as he continued to caress her nether lips before moving one of his fingers into her opening.

"Eric!" she cried out, her eyes opening widely and looking at what he was doing.

For a moment, her cry startled him, and he was afraid he'd somehow hurt her, but as soon as he saw the pleasure darkening her eyes, he began to gently move his finger in and out of her.

"Has anyone ever touched you this way?" he asked in a low, jagged voice.

She shook her head and then moaned as he slightly curved his finger.

Unable to resist tasting her for another second, he brought his lips to her clit and kissed her gently before sucking the hardened bundle of nerves into his mouth.

"Eric!" she cried out again.

"Has anyone ever kissed you this way?" he asked, barely able to form the words in his lust-filled haze.

"No," she gasped as he added a second finger and began to pump a little faster.

"Eric!" she moaned, her head falling backwards onto the bed and her hands clutching the comforter tightly as her body writhed under his touch.

Immediately, he missed the eye contact, and he stopped the movements of his tongue.

"Sookie," he said. "Look at me. Watch me."

"I—uh—can't," she gasped. "It's too much."

"Please, Sookie. Look at me," he said gently. "I need to see your eyes when I make you cum."

"You're gonna," she moaned a little as he stopped the movements of his fingers though they were still inside of her, "make me—uh—do that before we—uh . . . ."

Eric could see that her face was flush with both arousal and confusion, and he wanted only one of those things to remain.

"Sookie," he said softly. "Sookie," he repeated, until she was looking at him once more.

Once she was locked into his passionate gaze, she didn't think she could have pulled her eyes away even if she'd wanted to.

"I'm going to make you cum with my fingers and then I'm going to make you cum with my mouth. Only after that will I make you cum with my dick. Do you understand?" His tone was an odd mixture of promise and sternness. "Keep your eyes on me if you can, lover," he said in a softer tone. "You're so beautiful that I want to see you take your pleasure. Can you do that for me?" his asked, his voice almost begging.

"Yes—I'll try," she gasped as his fingers fluttered inside of her. She kept her eyes on his as he once more lowered his mouth to her clit and began sucking and nibbling.

"Eric," she moaned as his fingers pumped in and out of her with more force than before. She felt something begin to build up in her—a coil of pressure that she knew was the precursor to an orgasm. She'd certainly given herself orgasms before, but the spring being loaded in her body was something totally new as Eric worked her like a magician.

All coherent thought left her as he curved his fingers upward, touching a spot inside of her that she didn't know she had. She cried out and started to shake as her orgasm hit her.

Eric felt her inner walls pulsing around his fingers, and—not wanting to overstimulate her, he slowed down his thrusts as she came down from her high.

"Eric," she gasped as her eyes went from glazed over to slightly clearer. "No one's ever—uh—done that to me before," she said her voice trailing off.

"I guessed that," he said, drawing his fingers from her body.

"Oh," she said, her skin suddenly flushed. "Did I—uh—do something wrong?"

"You're perfect, lover," he assured as he began to kiss her outer folds. "You feel perfect," he said as he licked his fingers. "You taste perfect," he added as moved his mouth so that it hovered over her folds again.

"I'm not," she gasped as he dragged the flat of his tongue from her opening to her clit, "perfect."

He rose to his knees and then moved so that he was lying next to her. He gently placed his hand onto her cheek. However, his eyes were anything but gentle. In fact, they were a storm of passion and pleading.

"For me, Sookie," he said intensely. "You are perfect for me."

Immediately, tears sprang into her eyes and she nodded. Eric took her into his arms and held her as she cried into his chest.

He hated that he'd made her cry, but he could sense that she needed to unload some of the emotions that had been building up inside of her.

"I'm sorry," she said as she tried to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"Don't be," he soothed as he used the sheet for her eyes.

She looked up at him. "I'm ruining this—aren't I?"

"No, you're making this the best night of my life," he said sincerely, tucking a piece of her hair over her ear. He gave her a gentle smile. "I hate it when you cry, but I understand why you need to."

"It's just that no one's ever made me feel like you make me feel," she said, finding it difficult to put what she was experiencing into words. "No one's ever said things to me like you do. And it was just too much right then," she said as more tears flowed from her eyes.

"Shhh," he comforted as he shifted them until they were under the covers. "Why don't we sleep for a while, lover?"

"Eric," she sniffled, "I still want to—uh . . . . I don't want to leave you—uh. . . ."

"Unsatisfied?" Eric finished her sentence when she couldn't. "Sookie, what we've already done is more than enough to satisfy me. I enjoyed tasting you and feeling you come apart around my fingers."

She blushed.

"And I enjoy your blush," he added, kissing her cheek before snuggling her closer into his chest, "even though I don't like it to come from embarrassment." He kissed he forehead. "And don't worry, I still plan to get my satisfaction before long," he said, his eyebrows waggling a little, "but there is no hurry, Sookie. We have all night—and then most of the next three days."

"Okay," she said tentatively as she settled her hand onto Eric's chest and began to rub little circles there. It was several minutes before she spoke again. "I liked what you did. I liked it a lot."

"I liked doing it a lot," he said with mischief in his voice. "So you'll just have to get used to it."

She giggled a little and then looked up at him. "But I thought guys didn't like doing that."

"Why would you think that?" Eric asked.

"Uh—Bill told me that. And—uh—I've read it from people's lips before." She paused. "You'd be surprised by how many women complain about their—uh—partners not wanting to—uh—have oral sex with them; Bill said it was," she paused, "something proper ladies shouldn't want. He said it was vulgar."

With difficulty, Eric held in the anger he felt for Bill Compton in that moment. How that fool could have been with the beautiful woman in his arms and not want to pleasure her and take care of her was beyond the scope of Eric's understanding.

He tempered his response. "To be honest, Sookie, some men don't like giving oral sex to women, but that doesn't make it a vulgar act—at least I've never thought of it that way. In fact, it can be beautiful," he said, kissing her forehead, "as it was just now—between us." He paused, "In a lot of ways, oral sex is a more intimate act than other kinds of sex, and Bill's not pleasuring you says more about his problems with intimacy than anything having to do with you."

He sighed loudly as he continued, "I have to admit that I haven't always been willing to be truly intimate with the women that I've had sex with. What I did to you just now is not something I do often.

She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "But you seem so—uh—good at it," she said blushing.

His eyes lightened with a smile. "I'm glad you think so," he chuckled. "There are a lot of guys that claim the female body is a puzzle that they can't solve. And maybe, it is a kind of puzzle." He shrugged. "But all anyone has to do is to be aware of a woman's reaction and do more of what she's responding positively to. Sometimes, it may take a while to bring a woman to completion orally, but—with the right woman—it is very pleasurable for a man to," he paused, "learn the puzzle."

"But you—uh—don't do that with many women?" she asked.

"No," he answered honestly. "As callous and as paradoxical as it sounds, I usually didn't want to be that close to a woman I was having sex with. I wasn't interested in the act lasting very long either." He let out a long sigh. "Do you really want to hear this?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He took a deep breath. "Generally, I would use my fingers to get off the women I was with, but not my mouth. It's difficult for a lot of women to achieve orgasm when a man uses only his dick, and I might have been a selfish bastard in a lot of ways, but I refused to be the selfish bastard who took pleasure without giving some in return."

"Oh," Sookie said, shifting her eyes back to his chest.

"Sookie," he said softly, fearing that he may have been a little bit too blunt with her. He sighed. "Sookie, right about now, I'm wishing that I'd never been with another woman before you. I hate making you feel uncomfortable."

"It's okay," Sookie said, looking back into his eyes. "It's just that I never really talked about sex with Bill, and when I tried," she laughed ruefully, "it was kind of a disaster. But—uh—Claudine said that it's important to be able to discuss—uh—sex."

Eric smiled at her. "I think she's right. And you can ask me anything. You can also tell me anything, Sookie. If there is anything you want me to do or want me to do more often, all you have to do is ask me; meanwhile, I'll be 'listening' to your body, and it can tell me a lot without you having to do it."

"Well—if what you did earlier is any indication, let me just say that you're a very good listener," she said, before covering her mouth with her hand and blushing.

He chuckled and gave her a little pat on the ass.

"Can I ask you something that I swore I'd never ask you, but I want to know, so I'm just going to ask," she said in one rambling breath.

"Sookie," Eric said gently, raising her chin so that their eyes were meeting once more, "like I said, you can ask me anything."

"How many women have you—uh—been with?"


	33. Emotion in Motion, Part 2

Chapter 33, Emotion in Motion, Part 2

Eric sighed. "Do you really want to know?"

She nodded, smiling a little at the question that seemed to have become his "refrain."

"I don't have an exact count," he said honestly, even as he studied her reaction carefully. "I lost my virginity when I was sixteen, and I've been," he paused, "active ever since, and since I'm thirty-one now, that's fifteen years." He sighed. "I've told you that I've never had a steady girlfriend, nor have I been as promiscuous as some have thought me to be. I've never been someone to have sex with a different woman every night, but it's safe to estimate that I've sought out approximately one or two companions a month—except for the few months I saw Isabel consistently, both before and after she went to Paris. And since April, I haven't been with anyone."

"Why not?" Sookie asked.

"I think I was waiting for this—to be with you." He sighed. "Maybe just the possibility of you. I haven't really wanted anyone else since I met you—since January. I think that's why things with Isabel felt wrong this time; in fact, we had sex only a few times while we were together." He paused. "I felt like I was cheating on you when I touched her."

Obviously surprised, she sat up a little, making sure the sheet covered her. "Really? But we weren't even . . . . We had barely spoken. We weren't together."

He shrugged. "Maybe not, but I still felt like I was cheating." He ran a hand through his hair and sat up too. "Bobby told me about your dates with Pardloe."

"Preston?"

Eric nodded. "I was jealous even though I had no right to be. That's when I knew I had to end things with Isabel. But—even before you went out with Pardloe—I felt guilty about being with someone other than you."

"I was jealous too," Sookie admitted. "I would see pictures of you and Isabel on Page Six, and I would want to . . . ." She stopped midsentence.

"Want to what?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"Claw her eyes out?" Sookie half-asked and half-answered with a sheepish grin.

He chuckled. "And I wanted to kick Preston's ass for taking you out for a meal. We are quite the pair."

They smiled at each other for a few silent moments.

Suddenly, Sookie looked a little sick. "Oh. Uh—so you slept with maybe two women a month for—uh—around fifteen years?"

"That's my estimation," he said with another sigh. "I won't apologize for liking sex, Sookie, though I recognize that I sought it out to cover the discontent I felt in the other facets of my life."

"Did it work?" she asked.

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

She nodded.

"It was a distraction, so—yes—for an hour or two, it would help," he shared, "but nothing has helped me like being with you. I know it's probably not fair of me to say that to you yet, but it's the truth."

"Being with you has helped me too, Eric. It's made me feel like I can be just me and that it's okay."

"Yes," he responded. "That's how I feel with you too."

"I'm glad," she said, smiling a little. "But Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"Three hundred and sixty is gross."

"Huh?"

"Two a month would be twenty-four a year. And twenty-four times fifteen years is three hundred and sixty."

"That's why I stopped counting," he admitted with a little groan. "It was starting to seem gross to me too, though—in my defense—it was closer to one girl a month for most of those years. And there were quite a few lean months when I was in graduate school."

"Uh," she started, even as her face turned crimson red, "did you ever—uh—think about doing it with a guy?"

He chuckled. "No, but I've had plenty of gay guys flirt with me. In college, one even tried to get me drunk to have his way with me," he said dramatically.

She giggled. "I could imagine that. My friend Lafayette will probably try something like that if you ever meet him."

"I'll keep that in mind," he winked. "So—what about you?" he asked in return. "Ever consider doing something with a woman?"

Sookie shook her head. "Despite the hate that a lot of the people in Bon Temps—especially my mother—would spew, I don't have a problem with homosexuality, but when I started to feel attraction for other people, it was always for guys."

Eric chuckled. "Well—speaking for the straight guys of the world—I can say that's a very good thing."

She grinned. "It's not as hard as I thought."

"Oh—it's still hard, lover," he leered playfully.

She flamed even redder and smacked him on the chest. "That's not what I meant!" she giggled. "Talking about this stuff is not as difficult as I thought it would be, but I think it's because it's with you. And" she paused dramatically, "I have to disagree with Cosmo.

"What about?" he chuckled, lightly tickling her side.

She wrenched away from his marauding fingers and gave him a warning look before giggling again. He put his hands up innocently.

"I read an article in Cosmo once that said one shouldn't talk about sex while naked or in bed," she answered when she was pretty certain he wasn't going to tickle her again.

He chuckled again. "Well—I guess I can see the point that feelings could be hurt if the kind of talk being done ruined the mood, but I think you should be able to talk about it wherever it feels right."

"Is this talk ruining the mood?" Sookie asked, biting her bottom lip nervously.

Eric smiled and shook his head. "No. Despite the fact that the only woman that I've ever wanted to be monogamous with now knows just how much of a man-whore I used to be—and rightly finds it gross—I'm actually enjoying our talk."

She grinned. "It is gross. You're definitely getting tested again before we—uh—go without a," she paused and bit her lip, "condom."

He grinned back at her. "I'll make sure they're all double-checked too. And I'll throw in a rabies shot if it makes you feel better."

She giggled. "Did you at least know all of their names?" she asked, surprising both of them with her bold question.

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh my God! Eric Northman! That means that you didn't!"

He shrugged. "I admit to having had a few encounters where names didn't seem to be essential, and I've always confused Jessicas and Jennifers, and there are a lot of both."

She popped his chest again. "You're a cad, Eric!"

He chuckled. "I guess I'm your cad now," he responded.

"That's right," she said, smacking him once again.

"Ouch!" he cried out, feigning hurt. Truth be told, he was loving Sookie's playfulness. And he was loving how carefree that he felt too, despite the subject matter. Moreover, he was extremely grateful that she hadn't run for the hills when she'd heard how many women he'd been with.

"Do you—uh—like weird things?" she asked, suddenly nervous again. "Kinky things?"

Once again, they were both surprised that she'd asked that question.

"Not really," he answered honestly. "But I've—uh—tied girls up before."

She quickly sat up straighter and pulled the sheet more tightly against her chest as a barrier.

"You have?" she asked.

Eric put out his hands as if hoping to calm her. "Just when they wanted me to, Sookie. And it never got too crazy. Silk scarves to the bedpost—that kind of thing."

"Did you—uh—like that?" she asked.

"I did," he answered truthfully.

"Do you—uh—need that?"

"No, Sookie," he said, lessening the distance between them a little. "And I would never want you to do anything you didn't want to do. What I want is you, and that includes your being yourself and feeling comfortable with everything we do. However," he said, waggling his eyebrows, "if you ever want to tie me up, feel free."

Her eyes widened. "You really are a cad!" she said incredulously, even though the mirth had returned to her eyes.

Eric welcomed her return to playfulness with relief. "If I were tied down, I'd be at your mercy," he said, running a single finger over her shoulder and enjoying the sharp intake of breath his touch elicited from her. "You could do anything you wanted to me." He paused. "I've never trusted anyone with that much power over me," he whispered. "But I would gladly put myself into your hands, lover."

She bit her lip and looked toward his lap. She couldn't help but to notice the slight movement underneath the sheet where his cock was located. She looked back into his eyes and moved her hand to cover the twitching area.

Immediately, they both took in sharp breaths.

"Do you like it when I touch you?" she asked him brazenly.

"Yes," he panted.

"Eric?" she asked, her voice a little shaky.

"Yes?"

"Can I taste you? I mean—uh—do you like receiving—uh—oral sex?" She stopped moving her hand and spoke nervously, "I—uh—have only done it twice, but I'd—uh—like to—uh—return the favor."

He settled his hand softly over hers, which was still resting on his cock. "Sookie," he said gently, "I would love for you to touch me and to taste me—just as much as you want. I'm yours—all of me. But you don't have to do anything in order to 'return a favor.' If you want to, I would love it. If you don't want to, then don't—okay?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I want to."

Slowly, she dragged the sheet down his body; he hissed as the fabric was drawn over his engorged member.

"Sookie," he whispered, closing his eyes as she began to lightly stroke him.

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Northman," she said, feeling daring again despite her nerves. "The rules clearly state that you have to watch me while I make you cum."

His eyes shot open immediately, taking in the pink of her blush as well as the mischief in her eyes. Beautiful.

"I'd hate to break the rules and have to be punished, Miss Stackhouse," he rasped, as she moved her hand up and down slowly before pulling it away. He grunted as his cock twitched involuntarily—as if trying to chase after her touch.

Licking her lips, she repositioned herself so that her mouth was right over his stiff member.

"Sookie," he groaned as she took him into her hand again and began stroking him rhythmically, "can I see you—please."

She nodded and let the sheet drop, revealing her ample breasts.

"You are so beautiful, lover," he said as he cupped one of her breasts with his large hand. His thumb seemed to know exactly what to do to pleasure her nipple.

She hummed with pleasure and lowered her head the rest of the way to his cock. Finding that she couldn't hold Eric's gaze despite her being the one to bring up the "rule," she looked at the throbbing shaft before her. It was long and thick—somehow both hard and soft—and as it grew even larger in her hand, her fingers couldn't fit all the way around it. She gulped and licked her lips, eliciting a throaty moan from Eric.

Sookie smiled, despite her nervousness. Bill hadn't exactly been small; in fact, from a sexual education book that Sookie had recently copyedited, she'd found out that Bill had been average—around five to six inches long—but Eric was truly impressive. Bill had also been circumcised, while Eric was not. Fascinated by the differences and emboldened by the fact that Eric seemed content to let her explore his body, Sookie found herself playing with Eric's foreskin and listening for the signals that would tell her what he liked most. She smiled a little wider when he growled as she rolled the foreskin down to further expose the pink head of his penis. She bent down and ran her tongue over it, tasting the pre-cum that was seeping from him.

"Sookie," he panted. "That feels so good."

As she continued her study of Eric's cock and it grew even larger, she couldn't help but to wonder if he would even fit into her; however, she decided not to worry about that for now. She wanted to give him the kind of pleasure that he'd given her. She widened her lips and took him into her mouth, even as Eric raised his hand from her breast to her hair and gathered it into a kind of pony tail so that it wasn't in her way and so that he could better see what she was doing to him.

She would have thanked him, but she was too busy savoring his taste. Bill hadn't tasted bad—per se—but Eric tasted good to her, a little salty and savory.

Through her recent explorations into Japanese food, Sookie had learned the word umami, which was a fifth kind of taste. She'd learned only salty, bitter, sweet, and sour in school. But Eric was umami, the very flavor of the earth and exactly what she thought masculinity should taste like. She wanted more of him immediately and tried to hollow out her cheeks and relax her jaw in order to get what she wanted.

She'd expected him to thrust up into her throat or to press his hands against her head as Bill had done when she'd given him blow jobs, but Eric's hand didn't move, except to massage her head a little, and his hips only jerked from side to side as his muscles tensed because of his pleasure. Since she wasn't being gagged by her partner, Sookie felt freer to work at her own pace, and gauging from the noises Eric was making, she guessed that she was succeeding in her efforts to make him feel good. Using her hand to stimulate the part of his penis she couldn't get to with her mouth, she set a rhythm, which she quickly lost herself in: her heartbeat in her ears, his grunts and whimpers, the sounds of her mouth and hand moving, her own moans as she enjoyed tasting him, the throbbing of his pulse against her tongue.

"Sookie," he managed. "I'm close."

She appreciated the warning since Bill had never given her one, but she didn't let up. On the contrary, she moaned in anticipation.

"Sookie," Eric panted, now trying to squirm away from her. But she didn't let him go; instead, she held his hips down with her free hand and relaxed her throat muscles so that she could take him in even further.

"Fuck!" Eric yelled as his whole body stiffened and then convulsed.

Sookie swallowed the first burst of his release before pulling him out of her mouth; she continued stroking him with her hands.

She was licking her lips—familiarizing herself with the taste of his release—when she looked up at his face. Apparently, he'd forgotten the rule at some point too, and his head was back in ecstasy—his eyes tightly closed and his lips quivering—as her fingers drew one final surge of cum from him. The hand that hadn't been in her hair had done a real number on the sheets, as they were pulled into a bunch and still being held tightly in his fist.

He was beautiful—tensed and "tense-less" at the same time.

Seeming to feel her eyes on him, Eric's blue orbs popped open. The look in them was a paradox: sated and feral all at once. Before she could blink, he pulled her up to him and crashed his lips into hers for a breath-stealing kiss. She moaned into it, enjoying the two tastes of him—his mouth and the lingering flavor of his release.

"Mmmm," she moaned.

He broke the kiss and began nipping a trail along her jawbone.

"That was amazing, lover," he said, still panting. "You are fucking amazing!"

"Eric," she moaned, as his kisses continued to her neck and then collarbone and then breasts. Before she knew it, he was between her thighs and bathing her folds with his tongue as his used his fingers to spread her.

Sookie writhed and tossed on the bed, making a series of noises that belonged to no language except for the new one that Eric was dragging from her body. It was a guttural language, full of grunts and curses that couldn't quite form. And his name—or at least a breathy version of it—was the star of the language, as well as it's only understandable component.

He used his fingers to stimulate her clit as his tongue delved into her opening. His warm tongue inside of her was the most exquisite thing Sookie had ever felt, and soon, she too had a handful of sheets in her grip and was holding on as if her life depended upon it. Her other hand was in his hair, and—in contrast to him—she was unabashedly using it to make sure that he stayed right where he was. Luckily for her, her need seemed to be spurring him on.

Eric was relentless as he built her up, and once more, the coil inside of her was in his masterful hands as if he were in the very core of her, squeezing that loaded spring to the point that it would explode.

And explode it did.

She did.


	34. Inhabiting

Chapter 34: Inhabiting

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.—Aristotle

"Mmmm," Sookie murmured lazily. "Did I black out? I feel like Jell-O?"

Eric chuckled as he finished enjoying the taste of Sookie's release; the vibration of his laughter caused her body to convulse once more.

"Oh God," she mumbled as she shook.

"I take it you liked that?" he grinned like the devil himself as he moved so that he was next to her and then took her into his arms.

"That was one epic orgasm, Northman," she sighed dreamily. "You should teach classes."

"I think I'll be sticking to private lessons. Plus, I was just returning the favor," he said, playfully, nudging her ribs to remind her of her earlier comment.

She rolled her eyes a little, but then looked at him with surprise. "Did I do something like that to you?" she asked with wonder and a little disbelief in her voice. "Did I make you feel like that?"

"Yes," he said, taking one of her hands and lightly kissing each of her knuckles in turn. "You might not be that experienced with giving blow jobs, Sookie, but you're hired—forever."

She giggled, even as her face flushed red. "I've 'heard' a lot of things about giving them."

"Hmmm?"

"From lip reading. You'd be surprised by how often girls whisper about techniques." She grinned. "But I think the best advice I ever got was when I 'overheard' a conversation between Tara and Lafayette during my junior year of high school. Tara called him her guru."

Eric chuckled.

"And—also—before trying to give one to Bill, I read a lot about techniques for giving them. But—um—he didn't think I was good at it."

Eric worked hard to quell his anger for Sookie's ex. It wasn't that he was jealous of the fact that Sookie had given him blow jobs either. Far from it! He was angry that Sookie had so clearly tried to please Compton—only to be met by derision that seemed designed for only one purpose: to make Sookie feel ashamed. The way Eric saw it—Bill's loss was definitely his gain. But he still wanted to kick Bill's ass for hurting Sookie.

Eric calmed himself in order to keep the mood light. "Remind me to send Lafayette a gift then," he said, pulling her closer. "You should never doubt yourself in the oral sex department again."

Her grin was immediately back where he wanted it. "I'm glad it felt good for you."

"Good isn't the word," he purred, nuzzling her hair.

She looked up at him. "And we haven't even—uh—done it yet."

"I know," he chuckled, tickling her side lightly, which caused her to wiggle in his arms. "I'm pretty sure that you're going to be the death of me, woman," he growled playfully.

"Just returning the favor," she joked as she tickled him back.

Immediately, he crumpled into a laughing mess and moved to the other side of the bed defensively.

"Ticklish?" Sookie asked with a giggle, even as she realized that it was the first time she'd ever tickled anyone in her life.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked, trying to sound as if he hadn't just scurried across the bed as if it were lit on fire.

"Oh—nothing," she answered with a wicked grin.

He rolled his eyes. "How about a bath?" he asked, obviously changing the subject.

"A bath?"

"Yes—because of someone in this room, I am very, very dirty."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Well, dirty boy," she giggled, "I guess we'd better get you clean."

Eric leaned forward and kissed her on the nose before jumping out of bed. He didn't bother with clothing as he went into an attached room that was clearly a bathroom. Moments later, Sookie's suspicion was confirmed as she heard water filling a tub.

He sauntered back to the bedroom.

"Do you always walk around naked?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Well—I am half Scandinavian."

She giggled. "Well—we've already established that you look like a Viking."

"Then I'd better get to pillaging," he purred as he stalked toward the bed.

Before Sookie knew what was happening, she was slung over his shoulder and being carried toward the door Eric had come through moments before. Once inside the bathroom, he seemed to be looking for a place to put her and finally decided on the counter opposite the double sinks. When she was finally set upright, she gasped as she took in the master bathroom, which easily put the guest bathroom to shame.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.

"Now—this room," Eric said proudly, "I designed myself."

Impressed, Sookie looked around the space. Across from her were two pristine white porcelain sinks, both of them square-shaped and rising from the countertop. The silver fixtures for the sinks were mounted to the wall, which was made of gray tiles of more than one size. Large rectangles made up the upper portion of the room's walls, while narrower rectangles made up the bottom half.

Looking into the mirror confirmed that her hair was doing it impression of a rats' nest, but Sookie didn't bother to try to fix it as she continued her assessment of the room. She looked to her left and saw that there was a huge shower, the kind that was so big that it didn't need a door. She couldn't see the entire size of it, but she figured it was as wide as the room. She could see no fewer than five nozzles from where she was sitting and wondered if she'd even be able to figure out how to use it.

Her eyes next went to the other side of the room, which was dominated by a very naked—very gorgeous—man, bending over the tub to make sure that the water was the right temperature.

She must have made a noise out loud because Eric turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Do you like the room?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"Yes," she blushed, having been caught ogling his perfect bottom. "The décor is quite—um—stimulating."

"Well—then feel free to continue enjoying it," he chuckled as he turned back to his task. After giving his ode-worthy bottom another good leer, she finished examining the "tub side" of the room. The floor of the bathroom was made of large square gray tiles of a slightly darker shade than the walls. There were small white shelves on one side of the large white bathtub and red towels to accent the gray and white in the room.

"Wait!" Sookie said, looking at the window above the tub. "How is there a window in here? I mean—I know I was out of it when you carried me back here, but isn't this room part of the inside of your floor?"

Eric grinned. "It's a fake window. The realtor gushed that it gave the space a 'homey and open feel.' She said fake windows are all the rage now in buildings like this." He shrugged. "In truth, I thought about removing it, but it actually has a light fixture as part of it, so I designed around it."

"Fake windows?" Sookie asked as she shook her head and chuckled. "Rich people really are weird, Eric."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know," he laughed as he turned off the water. He came back over to Sookie and picked her up.

"You know—I can walk."

"You feel better in my arms," he said matter-of-factly.

"And how do you know how I feel?" she asked playfully as he set her into the tub and proceeded to climb in behind her.

"Let me rephrase, lover," he said. "I feel better when you're in my arms. Now—lie back so I can wash your hair."

She looked at him over her shoulder with a question in her eyes.

"I've always wanted to do this—wash someone's hair," he said with a loving smile lighting his face. His eyes looked past Sookie as if seeing into the past. "When I was a kid, Morfar would sit in front of the fire for hours brushing and braiding Mormor's hair. It was obvious that he liked taking care of her—that she was the most important part of him. She has always been so independent, but in front of the fire at night, she put herself into his hands completely." He sighed. "When he died, she cut her hair short—really short. It's been like that ever since."

Sookie turned around into Eric's arms. "You're one of the deepest people I've ever met, Eric Northman," she averred before kissing him lightly on the cheek.

He shook himself out of his memory and smiled at her. "Only with Sookie," he said, leaning forward to kiss her lips chastely before turning her back around.

She sighed contentedly as she put herself into his strong hands. He moved her forward a little and then tipped her backwards into the deep tub in order to wet her tresses—all the while careful to make sure no water got into her eyes. Then he sat her upright again and opened some shampoo.

"Mmmm," she sounded, "that smells good."

He smiled as he began to lather the shampoo into her hair. "I'm glad you like it."

"Is it lavender?"

"Yes—I noticed that you had some lotion with this scent, so I asked Thalia to pick this up."

"Thanks," she sighed as he rinsed her hair with a spray nozzle. Next, he rubbed some conditioner into her tresses before rinsing that out as well.

"Now you?" she asked. Eric nodded, and then Sookie used the nozzle to wet his hair. She took her time massaging in the shampoo before rinsing his head.

After that, they spent a good deal of time making sure that they were clean—with Eric being especially conscientious of what had apparently been a build-up of dirt on her breasts.

She didn't complain at all, even though she couldn't see the offending "mud." In turn, she bathed him, making sure that every inch of him that she could reach was squeaky clean as well. She may have spent a bit of extra time washing certain things more than others, but he didn't complain either.

Once they were rinsed, Eric used one of his very talented toes to unplug the drain, but when Sookie went to get out, he stopped her and got out first so that he could lift her from the tub. Without a word, they dried each other off. Sookie couldn't help but to notice that his cock was ready again, nor could she ignore the fact that the wetness settling between her legs was not from the water of the bath.

"Eric," she whimpered as he moved the towel over her aroused folds. "I need you."

He nodded, quickly dropped his towel, and picked her up bridal style before taking her back into the bedroom. Carefully, he laid her onto the bed and began to kiss down her body, but she stopped him and pulled his lips to hers.

"Eric," she said huskily, "you promised that my next orgasm would come from your," she paused, "dick. I loved your hands, and your mouth was amazing, but I am ready for you to keep your promise to me."

He panted passionately above her. "I'll never break a promise to you, Sookie. Never."

He crashed his lips into hers in order to seal his vow.

"Eric," she whimpered his name again as she felt his engorged member rubbing against her slick folds. "Condom," she managed. "Now. Please."

He nodded and reached toward the bedside table before fumbling with the contents inside. She watched with lust-filled eyes as he opened the foil package he retrieved from the drawer and put the condom onto his penis.

He moved so that he was hovering over her, supported by his forearms. He looked into her eyes and sought permission one last time. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, raising her hands to his cheeks. "I want you, Eric. So much."

He nodded. "I'll go slowly at first, but tell me if it's too much. Promise?" he asked almost desperately.

"I promise," she said.

He nodded again and then kissed her tenderly, before balancing on one arm and testing her readiness with his fingers. She was dripping with desire. "Sookie," he growled, "so wet—just for me."

"Yes," she returned passionately, "just for you, Eric."

Once more he felt the burn of tears in the corners of his eyes as he looked down at her. She was so lovely and so ready for him. And she was his—for five percent of his life.

His mind screamed for him to tell her that he loved her, but he pushed that thought to the side, knowing just how dangerous saying it out loud would be. Even thinking it was dangerous enough. Instead he kissed her tenderly and let his eyes speak for him as he lined himself up with her opening.

He had felt how tight she was earlier when his fingers were inside of her, so he eased forward, trying to concentrate on the expression on her face rather than on the exquisite feeling that being sheathed inside of her was giving him. He crept forward and watched her eyes go from passion to ecstasy as he moved into her a few inches before pulling back out. With each agonizingly wonderful invasion of her body, he went further and further—losing himself more and more.

He was surprised that Sookie's eyes never registered pain as she relaxed and stretched around him, opening herself to him. He was so concentrated on her reaction that he was taken off guard when he realized that he was fully inside of her. She was warm around him, her inner walls clinging to him as if they had been plastered to fit him. No other woman had ever felt so right before. He'd been with some women who were too narrow for him to fit inside comfortably. He'd found others whose channels were too wide. And most women couldn't take all of his length—no matter how wide or narrow they were. But right then, he felt like Goldilocks because Sookie was just fucking right! He paused for a moment to memorize the sensation. The tip of his cock just brushed her cervix, though—from her throaty moans—it was obviously not causing her pain. Her walls seemed to touch every inch of him—perfectly—and he could feel the warmth of her even through the condom.

"Sookie, detta är bäst. Detta är rätt," he whispered in Swedish as he began to move in slow thrusts, focusing again on Sookie so that he could make sure she was okay. ["This is best. This is right."]

Sookie was in absolute bliss as Eric entered her a little at a time, managing to touch—and stroke—nerve endings she'd never known existed. He was moving in careful stages, delving further into her with each gentle thrust. She wanted to tell him to go faster, but his agonizingly slow rate was already strumming the coil within her, and she didn't want her orgasm to come too soon. She wanted to wait to fall over the edge with him.

Once he was fully inside of her, Sookie was able to appreciate just how good he felt—just how right. She'd never felt such exquisite pressure before. Every bit of the organ that made him male was touching the bits that made her female, and, in that moment, she knew that she was made to be his woman—that what she was feeling right then would happen with no one but Eric Northman. She wanted to cry and scream from the realization—from the pleasure of the physical and mental epiphanies she was experiencing. But all she could do was look into his eyes and recognize that the same things that she was feeling were also happening to him.

It was—in a word—beautiful.

When he finally did begin to move, the coil inside of her tightened even more.

"Sookie," he muttered, along with words from a language she guessed was Swedish.

Her ears didn't understand those words at all, but her eyes had become familiar with the cadence of his lips during their week together, so she was able to discern the tenor and the tenderness of his words without knowing what they meant. He was telling her that what they were experiencing was amazing and astonishing—a miracle. He was telling her that she was beautiful and his. He was confessing that he belonged to her—now and forever—no matter what the future held for them. He was celebrating the present and lamenting the future all at once.

No. Sookie didn't need to understand Swedish to know that those mysterious words were saying the very things that were in her own heart as he continued moving in and out of her, stimulating her entire passage with his length, as well as her clit when his pubic bone brushed her with each stroke he made.

She became aware that she was moving to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust. Her legs wrapped around his bottom and he grabbed her thighs, changing the angle slightly and stroking upwards.

And that was when she saw stars.

"Eric!" she cried as his pubic bone struck her clit harder, even as the tip of his shaft massaged her G-spot. Almost immediately, she was lost in an orgasmic tide that pulled her out into a sea where only his eyes could keep her from drowning. She stayed focused on them as she pulsed and pulsed and pulsed.

He yelled over her cries of ecstasy a few seconds after she was swallowed by her pleasure, and she felt him throbbing inside of her again and again and again. He closed his eyes as he grunted out his final release.

After that, they both drowned for a while.

It was at least ten minutes before Eric was able to get up and go to the bathroom to throw away his condom. To say that sex with Sookie was the best he'd ever had would have been an insult to her because nothing else was even comparable to it. Making love to her—and he could admit to himself that that was exactly what they'd done—had been exhausting and invigorating all at once.

He warmed a wash cloth and took it back in with him so that he could clean her up. She was ethereal as she lay there waiting for him to return. Her eyes were closed and her lips were turned up into a contented smile. He closed his own eyes and recorded the memory before climbing into bed with her and cleaning her up. That done, he pulled her to him and sighed contentedly as she nestled into his chest and settled her hand over his heart. He drifted in and out of sleep until he heard her own breathing even out.

He whispered, "Jag var dålig förrän jag hittade dig. Du är min skatt." ["I was poor until I found you. You are my treasure."]

With those words, he allowed himself to fall into a deep slumber as well.

Sookie woke up quickly, every fiber of her being crying out that something wasn't right. She sat up in bed, orienting herself to the still-new place. Sometime in the night, she and Eric had drifted apart from each other. She remembered falling asleep on his chest, but now his body was near the edge of the bed. He was turned on his side, his back to her.

The room was illuminated slightly by city lights, and she could make out Eric shaking his head in his sleep. When she looked closer—felt closer—she realized that he was trembling all over.

"No!" he whimpered as he thrashed a little. "Don't take her too. Please. Not Sookie. No. Father. Not her. Anything. I'll do anything. Not her."

As soon as Sookie realized that Eric wasn't awake—that he was having a nightmare—she reached out to sooth him.

"I'm here," she whispered. In his sleep, he rolled toward her voice and sighed as she took him into her arms.

"Sookie?" he mumbled. "Stay. Please. Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," she assured again and again until he settled against her body and finally returned to sleep. She pulled him closer, knowing that his nightmare would be the same at hers for as long as they were together: it would be Appius Northman, holding their hearts in one hand and a stopwatch in the other.


	35. Better and Worse

Chapter 35: Better and Worse

Eric had been awake for a while, but he'd not moved. He'd been surprised to find that sometime in the night, he and Sookie had reversed their positions. While she'd gone to sleep with her head on his chest, he was now resting his head on her stomach. Her hands were placed on his body soothingly, one on his shoulder and the other in his hair. Periodically, she would move one or both of her hands in her sleep, stroking him as if to comfort him.

Her actions made him feel cherished—which he'd never felt before Sookie came into his life—so, other than making sure that he wasn't putting too much weight on her body, he didn't move. Not a muscle.

Eric couldn't help but to think about how amazing it was to wake up with a woman—this woman. He marveled at the idea that he'd never gone to sleep with someone he'd had sex with—even though he'd been with a "gross" number of women. He smiled at the double meaning of Sookie's word choice. Of course, now he didn't ever want to wake up without Sookie again. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would give up everything he had to be with Sookie Stackhouse: his home, his car, his money, his position at Northman Publishing. Those things were nothing compared to her.

Unable to stop himself, he thought about the possibility of running away with Sookie. He let himself fantasize for a moment, imagining them on a deserted island where Appius couldn't find them. However, Eric knew that he couldn't run; a hundred and four lives would be affected if he did. Moreover, he knew that his father wouldn't let him escape.

Eric sighed as his daydream faded. But he couldn't help smiling again as he appreciated the sounds Sookie made in her sleep. Lying on her back, she snored lightly with each inhalation of her breath. And when she moved her hands on him, it was almost as if her exhalation became a contented sigh—as if she were glad to find him still underneath her touch, still with her.

A hot tear stung the corner of his eye, but as with the ones that had arisen the night before during Sookie and his lovemaking, he was able to blink it away.

He glanced at the clock and noticed he'd been asleep for more than six hours. Undeniably, he had slept better with Sookie during the previous week than he had in his entire life. For years, nightmares and insomnia had plagued him to the point that he had sleeping pills in his bathroom for times when he was past the point of exhaustion and had to sleep. Eric hated taking them, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. Most nights, he'd be lucky to get three hours of continuous sleep. On his best nights, he would get five. But there had been many nights when he would move in and out of a light sleep for a few hours before giving up and doing something productive.

Indeed, night was when he got most of his own NP work done—given the fact that his father required that he attend a myriad of meetings each day. Appius Northman had never required that of himself, but he enjoyed controlling Eric's actions as much as he could.

And, in truth, Eric knew a hell of a lot about the company—all facets of it—because he had to attend all those meetings. He had thought of countless policy changes that could be implemented to make the company grow more efficient and cutting-edge. At first, he'd included his ideas for improvements in the reports that Appius required from him for each meeting he attended. But Appius had let Eric know—in the belittling way that he'd mastered—that any "puerile notions" Eric had were unwelcome.

The only exception to that had been when the company went public. Appius had been resisting going public for years, despite getting a lot of advice that it would be a good business move. Eric had been just one of the voices telling his father that they should take Northman Publishing public, and—as expected—his voice was the one least listened to. It had been Stan Davis, Nora, and Appius's lawyers who had finally convinced him. But it was Eric that Appius put in charge of the transition; thus, it was Eric whom he resented for supposedly "taking the company out of family hands." Of course, that wasn't what had happened, but Appius still liked to berate Eric nonetheless. It didn't matter that Appius still had ultimate power. And it didn't matter that Appius was now several billion dollars wealthier than he had been.

Naturally, Eric had stopped bothering to share his ideas with Appius. He simply went to the meetings and wrote up his mandatory reports like a glorified administrative assistant taking minutes. Oh—he still had many ideas for making the company grow stronger, but he kept those to himself for the most part, though he'd been known to drop hints to Pam or Nora or other department heads about things that he thought needed to be dealt with immediately. And those people knew enough to keep Eric's name out of any proposals made to Appius.

Eric was—because of the terms of the contract he had with his father—able to control his division of NP, the international operations of the company, and he'd managed to grow that division exponentially in just six years of running it. In addition to officially taking on all of Larsson Publishing's clients, the European operations of NP had spread. And Eric had lucrative deals in the works within several Asian, African, and South American markets too.

As Sookie once more moved her hands to caress him, he could tell that she was beginning to wake up. He smiled and gently kissed her stomach, though it was separated from his lips by the sheet. He closed his eyes tightly, wondering how he would keep his sanity after saying goodbye to the woman who was holding him in her arms.

He must have unknowingly spoken his question out loud because Sookie's still-tired voice answered him. "I feel the same way about you—you know." She was brushing his hair with her fingers more purposely now, making him want to purr. "Saying goodbye to you after last night—after last week—seems impossible right now." She took a deep breath. "Claudine told me something very wise though."

"What was that?"

"She said that if we chose to be with each other, we couldn't dwell on the fact that the clock is running down."

"Live in the moment?" he asked once more kissing her through the sheet.

"Yes. You were right about what will happen when it's time for all of this to end; we're going to break." She sighed. "But until then, we should enjoy what we've been given. Some people don't ever find this at all," she said, tightening her hand on his shoulder.

He tilted his head up to look at her. All he could do was nod in agreement.

They lay quietly for a while, Eric still cuddled into her side.

"You had a nightmare last night," she said softly.

"I'm surprised I was able to go back to sleep then," he mused. "Those usually keep me up for the rest of the night. It must have been having you here," he smiled as he looked up at her again.

"So—are you saying that I'm good for you?" she asked playfully.

"Let me show you how good for me you are," he purred as he began pulling the sheet from her body. It had just cleared her breasts when Eric's phone buzzed.

Both he and Sookie groaned as they heard the unwelcome sound.

"It's after 8:00; I have to get it," he said apologetically as the phone buzzed again.

She nodded and sat up as he scrambled out of bed and retrieved his phone from his discarded jeans. She couldn't help but to appreciate the view of her naked and aroused lover.

"Eric Northman," he said into the receiver.

Sookie noticed that he was using his "business tone." The pitch was a little lower than what he normally sounded like, but still smooth and polite. She knew that Eric was well-respected because he was both approachable and decisive at NP. Sookie had heard from both Sam and Pam's lips on more than one occasion that they wished that Eric was the one who oversaw the editing division—instead of Appius, who was certainly more of an authoritarian.

Still, Sookie knew—also from Sam and Pam's lips—that Eric had passed along some suggestions for improvements, and, thinking they had come from Pam, Appius had approved many of them. Sookie now understood a little better why those ideas had needed to be put forward by Pam and not Eric.

Eric sat down heavily onto the bed, and Sookie could hear that the voice on the other end of the call belonged to a man, though Sookie couldn't make out the man's words. From the slump of Eric's shoulders and his overall demeanor change, she guessed it was his father.

Eric spoke evenly even though his body was tense. "As I put on the schedule three weeks ago and reminded you on Friday, I'm not going to be in the office until Thursday. I'm going to be . . . ."

Eric had obviously been interrupted, and Sookie could see his free hand flexing as if searching for something to steady him. She reached out and took it. When he looked down at her, she saw his body relax a little, and he even managed to give her a little smile before he began speaking to Appius again. He kept his eyes on hers as if they somehow settled him.

"I know that you are not a fan of this deal with Guangzhou Press, but it concerns my division and, therefore, the final decision is mine."

Again, the voice on the other end began speaking, this time so loudly that Sookie could almost make out the words.

"You already have those numbers," Eric said, clearly trying to maintain his calm. His thumb was moving over Sookie's palm in a nervous, rubbing motion, though his touch was not rough. "I sent you the projections before I pursued the deal, and I have updated them for you several times. I emailed the most recent projections—done last Friday—to Andre since you now want things to go through him."

Eric took deep, deliberate breaths as his father spoke again.

"No—I am not blaming Andre for my incompetence," he said in a deflated tone. "I am just explaining where the latest projections are and reminding you of my calendar, which was sent to you weeks ago."

Appius yelled out something that Sookie could tell was a question based on his inflection.

"No. The estimated profit projections have actually increased, given the fact that there is so much interest in producing translations of work from China." Eric took a deep breath. "And remember that we will likely be able to get government subsidies that will cover most of our operating budget for the project."

Again, the gruff tone of Appius came through the receiver.

"No," Eric said. "I didn't go to Stan because he's not associated with the kinds of educational subsidies we're applying for."

Again, there was yelling over the receiver.

Eric's voice stayed unruffled; however, his eyes were a storm of frustration and pain. "No—if we get the subsidies, we'll have to provide free copies of some of the items to various public institutions and schools," Eric reported.

Again Eric's shoulders slumped as Appius spoke harshly.

"No—the subsidies aren't sure things. And I can't apply for them until after the deal goes through, but my contact on the Congressional Subcommittee is excited about the project. The government is just as interested in getting good translations of Chinese materials as others are. My contact is almost certain . . . ."

Eric closed his eyes and listened after he was interrupted yet again.

"Speak to Stan if you want to, but I don't believe he'll be able to do anything in this matter, or I would have gone to him myself."

Again Eric listened. This time Appius went on for a long while. Eric looked like he was in physical pain because of his father's words.

"Yes," Eric said finally. "I am well-aware of your opinion that I am unable to effectively run my division, Father. However, unless you want me to cancel the deal with the Chinese and give up a project that could mean billions for the company, you should let me get back to work."

Again there was a pause as Appius spoke.

"I'm sure that if we don't strike this deal, others—like de Castro—will jump at the potential of such an enterprise, but we have an almost-finalized contract, and the Chinese are extremely loyal. I know that they will continue working with us, and don't forget that they are also buying the rights to publish translations of many of the items from our own catalogue in Mandarin and Cantonese, as well as buying a lot of English titles for their students. Our market in China will be as large as our U.S. market by 2018 if my projections hold."

Sookie heard the tone on the phone shift a little.

"I wasn't aware that you required my attendance at your meeting with Neave and Lochlan today." He closed his eyes tightly as Appius spoke again. Sookie squeezed his hand and moved so that her cheek was against his leg.

"I'll see you at eleven o'clock then," Eric said before hanging up.

"Is talking to him always like that?" Sookie asked quietly.

"Always," Eric said with his eyes still shut.

"You have to go in today?"

"Just for a meeting that I'm not needed at—just so that my father can demonstrate his power over me."

"Surely he can't be upset about the deal you're making with the Chinese publishing house. It sounds like it's a good thing."

He opened his eyes and stroked her cheek. "It is a good thing, and—no—Appius hasn't really tried to block my working on it; otherwise, he would have called the Chinese and insulted them—just to undermine me." He sighed, "He's done similar things in the past. But even he has to recognize the potential for profit in this deal. He simply likes to make me justify myself over and over again."

"So he called just to berate you," Sookie observed, "not because he disagrees with the work you're doing."

Eric nodded. "It helped me to have you here," he said with a small smile.

"I'm glad," she said as she kissed his hand.

"How about we get cleaned up and grab a quick bite. Then we'll both head out. You wanted to go to Brooklyn to pick up some clothes for the next few days anyway—right?" Eric asked.

Sookie nodded.

"I'll drive into the office, and as soon as the meeting's done, I'll come to Brooklyn and pick you up."

"Oooh!" Sookie exclaimed excitedly. "In your baby?" Eric had told her about his "baby," which was a 2007 red Corvette that he'd bought used two years before. It was one of his few "luxury items."

Eric chuckled as the tension of his call disappeared from his face. "Sure. It's about time you met the other woman anyway."

She giggled. "So your car is a woman?"

"Of course," Eric answered with an arch of his eyebrow. "Otherwise, it would be awkward for me to say the things I say to her."

She giggled again. "I can only imagine."

Eric squeezed her hand as his expression sobered a little. "Sookie, I would much rather do what I'd originally intended to do this morning—hang out and make love to you a couple more times before you left for Brooklyn."

"I know," she said. "But—like you said—I have errands to run anyway. Uh—maybe when you pick me up, you could meet Amelia? There's some food that I want to use at the brownstone so that it doesn't go bad. I could cook us a late lunch and we could explain things to her?"

"That sounds good, lover," Eric said.

She smiled a little.

"What?"

"I shouldn't like it when you call me 'lover' because the connotation isn't so great, but I sort of do."

Eric smiled. "In Swedish, min älskare—or 'my lover'—doesn't have that negative twinge to it. I guess I think of that word and then translate it. But I can stop calling you that if you wish."

"No," Sookie said, nuzzling his leg again. "I like it, but you don't have to translate. I like it when you speak in Swedish." Her face went bright red. "You spoke it quite a bit when we were—uh—gettin' busy last night." She giggled shyly. "At one point, I'm pretty sure that you were cursing like a sailor."

Eric chuckled and ran his fingers through her hair. "At one point, I was."

She smiled. "It's nice actually—guessing what you're saying without seeing the English words forming on your mouth."

He bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Shall we shower together, min älskare?" he suggested.

"To save water?"

"Of course," he grinned wolfishly.

"I probably couldn't figure out all the nozzles anyway," she observed.

"So it really is the most practical decision."

She grinned in agreement and sat up as he reached into his nightstand to get a condom.

Her eyebrow lifted in question.

"Just in case," he said with a leer.

She giggled. "Mr. Practical strikes again."

She wasn't surprised at all when he picked her up over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom, once again doing his impression of a marauding Viking. She also wasn't surprised when the condom didn't make a return trip to his nightstand after their extremely "refreshing" shower.


	36. Perspective

Chapter 36: Perspective

Amelia's POV

"Are we talking about the same Eric Northman?" Amelia half-asked and half-exclaimed as she sat on a kitchen stool watching Sookie put together a soup. Amelia was well aware that she was painfully inept in the kitchen, except when it came to making coffee, so she was staying out of Sookie's way even as she enjoyed the emerging aroma from the bubbling mixture on the stove.

"Yes," Sookie confirmed, a little uncomfortably, "Eric Northman."

"The CEO of Northman Publishing?" Amelia asked, still incredulous. When her friend had told her that she had a boyfriend, Amelia would have never guessed—not in a million years—that it would be a playboy like Eric Northman. She'd pictured someone who worked at the library that Sookie frequented—or maybe another Preston Pardloe type.

"Eric's father is the CEO," Sookie corrected, "but yes—that Eric Northman."

Amelia sat dumbfounded for a moment. "But, Sookie, you don't even date—not really—and then you suddenly land the most eligible bachelor in New York?" Amelia asked, trying to hide her shock so that she wouldn't hurt her friend's feelings. In truth, however, Amelia was shocked. It wasn't that Amelia thought something asinine—like that Eric was out of Sookie's league. It was that Sookie was one of the most introverted people she'd ever known, and—though it was feasible that she'd met Eric at her place of work—Amelia couldn't imagine her actually speaking to him, even if he made the first move.

Sookie took a deep breath as she stirred chopped carrots into the pot. "Something like that," she said before looking at Amelia nervously. "But we have to keep our relationship a secret. So you can't tell anyone—not anyone. Remember your promise to me before I told you who he was?" she asked, her tone now tinged with desperation. "Please, Amelia. We are telling only a few people about this."

Immediately, Amelia felt her anger rising. "Why are you so scared of people finding out? Not telling is his idea—isn't it? He's not ashamed of you—is he?"

"No. He's not ashamed of me," Sookie answered quickly as she returned to her cutting board and started prepping another vegetable for the soup.

Amelia wanted to believe her friend, but she knew something of Eric Northman's reputation. And he wasn't known for having committed relationships, except for one—with Isabel Edgington. And as far as Amelia knew, they were still dating. In fact, rumor had it that they'd be announcing their engagement before long. Amelia took a deep breath and considered her response carefully—again not wanting to hurt Sookie.

"You know that I think you're a wonderful person, but I'm worried, Sookie. If there's one thing I know firsthand, it's how the people in so-called high society operate. It's why I turned my back on that kind of life." She sighed. "I don't want to think that Eric's just using you, Sook, but I'm scared for you."

"He's not using me," Sookie responded calmly. "I appreciate your worry; I really do. You're right about our differences in social class being one of the reasons why Eric and I need to be secretive. But it's not because Eric thinks I'm unworthy. It's. . . ." She stopped speaking for a moment, obviously considering her words carefully. "Appius, Eric's father—he's the problem."

"How so?" Amelia asked, trying to hide her skepticism.

Sookie took a deep breath, again taking time to consider her response. "If Appius finds out that Eric's serious about me, then he'll interfere."

Amelia's eyebrows furrowed. "Listen. I understand—more than most—the pressure that parents can put on kids when it comes to relationships. And I know a little about Appius too since he and my dad used to be thick as thieves." She paused. "So it doesn't surprise me that Appius would disapprove of Eric's getting serious about someone he doesn't approve of. My father—at least before my mother died—was always trying to interfere with my personal life, especially after he found out that I'm bisexual. And when I didn't conform to his wishes, he basically disowned me!" She paused again. "I mean—my dad has changed and he's accepted me for who I am now, but, Sookie, I don't see Appius changing. I remember him as pretty rigid." She let out a long exhalation. "I'm sorry to be the one who has to say this to you, but I can't see Eric being able to be with you—not if he wants to remain Appius's heir."

For a moment, Sookie stopped chopping the onion that was—perhaps—responsible for the tears rising in her eyes. "I know," she said with a sigh. "Eric and I aren't going to get a happily ever after. The way we figure it, we have fewer than four years to be together. After that, Eric will have to marry someone that his father deems suitable."

"So he's already told you when you're breaking up? And you're with him anyway?" Amelia asked, shaking her head.

"Breaking up isn't something Eric wants," Sookie said softly. "We haven't been together long, Amelia, and it's difficult to explain, but it feels like we're supposed to be together." Her eyebrows furrowed a little before she continued. "It's actually impossible to explain. But the important thing is that I'm going to seize all the time with Eric I can get and try to enjoy it."

Amelia bit her lip a little. Her friend was trying to be so calm about the fact that Eric had told her that their relationship couldn't last; however, Amelia could see the pain in Sookie's eyes. "Eric could rebel against his father's expectations—like I did," she offered, trying to instill hope into her tone.

"No. He couldn't," Sookie said enigmatically—and ominously.

"Why not?" Amelia asked.

Sookie started peeling the outer layers off of another onion. "There are going to be a lot of things that I won't be able to tell you about all of this, Amelia. I just need for you to try to understand that Eric's giving me all that he can. And—so that we can enjoy the time we have—we need to make sure Appius doesn't find out about us."

The two were silent for a while as Sookie chopped the second onion and then used a pan to sauté the onions and some garlic in some cooking oil. The quiet only served to heighten Amelia's concerns for Sookie. Her friend was just beginning to come out of her shell—just beginning to wake up to life. Amelia knew that Sookie saw Claudine for counseling once a week, but—of course—Claudine had never told Amelia anything about Sookie's sessions. However, it hadn't been difficult for Amelia to discern that Sookie had suffered a lot of mental and/or physical trauma before coming to New York. After all, the Sookie that she first met might as well have been a zombie; hell—Sookie barely spoke ten words at a time to Amelia for the first six months they lived together.

It wasn't that Sookie had been a bad housemate—far from it, in fact. It was just that she seemed scared to interact with anyone beyond the most casual of topics. It had been a desperate move on Amelia's part when she invited Claudine over to the brownstone when she knew she'd be running late and Sookie would be alone. Amelia hadn't told her best friend much about her roommate—beyond the fact that Sookie was quiet. However—just as Amelia had hoped—the therapist had immediately seen that Sookie was in trouble and needed help. Thankfully, seven months before, Sookie had taken Claudine up on the counseling.

Since then, Sookie had been slowly changing. She'd been relaxing more around friends. And she'd even gone out a few times. Thus, Amelia couldn't help but to be afraid of the emotional battering for which Sookie seemed to be setting herself up.

"So—what happens to you if you fall in love with him?" Amelia asked quietly—hoping to somehow get Sookie to see reason before it was too late to save her heart.

Sookie bit her lip a little, but didn't look up from her task.

"Shit," Amelia cursed quietly. "You already love him—don't you?"

Sookie added the sautéed mixture to the soup and then looked over at Amelia. "I do love him," she said matter-of-factly, "and I'm going to enjoy that love for as long as I can. Eric and I are both being very realistic about where our relationship will end up. But—for right now—we're living for the 'now.'"

"You can't be okay with that," Amelia said disbelievingly.

"I am okay with that. Eric has been upfront and honest with me from the start, and I've made my choice to be with him, Amelia," Sookie said firmly.

"Surely you couldn't have told Claudine about this," Amelia responded.

"I did. She said that I needed to make sure the gain would be worth the loss."

"And you think it is?"

"I know it is," Sookie said confidently. "And I really need you to keep quiet about my relationship with Eric; otherwise, it'll end sooner than it has to."

Amelia considered Sookie's response. She had no doubt that Claudine would have guided Sookie to make the right choice regarding Eric. But Amelia still had her doubts.

"What about the fact that Eric is dating Isabel Edgington?" Amelia asked with concern, fearing that her words would hurt Sookie, but believing that her friend needed to hear them nonetheless.

"Isabel and Eric are friends. They used to be more than that, but now they are just friends, who go to events together. It makes things easier for them."

"You believe that?"

"I know it," Sookie responded unequivocally.

Amelia shook her head. "And you accept the fact that Eric has a pretend relationship with Isabel?"

Sookie nodded. "Yes. In fact, he already showed me a schedule of events that they plan to attend together for the next several months."

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. "So—to sum up—you are with Eric Northman, but you are keeping your relationship a secret so you can stay together as long as you can because, otherwise, his father would break you up. But—regardless—you know it'll have to end within four years? And you already love him?"

"Yes," Sookie said. "I know it's hard to understand, and I wish I could tell you everything, but Eric makes me happy, and," she paused and used a paper towel to dry a few tears from her eyes, "I really want to be happy, Amelia. For a very long time, I didn't think I deserved to be; I didn't know that I could be. But Eric—being with him—makes me happy."

"You do deserve to be happy," Amelia said quietly, "but you also deserve to stay that way. What if I ask my father to speak to Appius?" she asked, trying to infuse her tone with optimism that she didn't quite feel. "Like I said, they used to be really good friends. Maybe Eric's wrong. Maybe Appius isn't so Draconian that he'd deny his own son happiness. After all, the Northmans already have more money than God. Why would Eric need to marry into more of it?"

Sookie shook her head. "I've not been around Eric for long, but I've already learned that Appius is a cruel bastard—especially where Eric is concerned. Appius would use every tool at his disposal to keep Eric from marrying someone like me. And—as for caring about whether Eric is happy? He doesn't. Appius is a monster; he's happiest when Eric is miserable."

"But why?" Amelia asked dumbfounded.

"Does it matter why a parent is intentionally cruel to his or her child?" Sookie asked quietly.

"No," Amelia answered softly as she took in the woman before her; Sookie Stackhouse had proven that she was a survivor—though Amelia wasn't sure what all she'd had to survive. Amelia had, however, intuited that Sookie's pain stemmed from a cruel parent of her own—her mother. Amelia didn't know a lot about Sookie's relationship with Michelle Stackhouse, but she knew enough to be certain that there was a big difference between what she'd gone through with her father as opposed to what Sookie had gone through with Michelle Stackhouse. And—from the subtext of Sookie's words—it sounded like Appius Northman might be more than just the run-of-the-mill high-class father who wanted his son to follow in his footsteps and lamented the fact that arranged marriages were no longer the norm.

Amelia may have had to suffer through a couple of years' worth of her hot-tempered father's stubborn misgivings about her choices, but she'd never doubted that his love of her and his worry for her were the foundation of those misgivings. And—even when Copley Carmichael had "disinherited" her—he'd still made sure she had access to her trust fund. And he'd kept track of how she was doing through her mother and brother. And he'd left her messages about once a week telling her that she should visit home more often—for her mother's sake. Of course, Amelia had known—even then—that his requests were really because he missed her.

No—unlike Copley Carmichael—Michelle Stackhouse was clearly an abuser. Amelia had answered the phone the only time that Michelle had called Sookie in New York. It was about a week after Sookie had moved in, and Michelle had clearly thought that Sookie had answered. Without so much as a "hello," the baleful woman had begun attacking her daughter, berating her for ruining things with someone named Bill Compton and screaming that she was going to fail in New York. It had taken Amelia a minute to process who the woman on the phone was, and in that time Sookie's mother had spewed out nonstop venom. Not knowing what else to do, Amelia had hung up the phone and then had immediately called the phone company to have them change the number. She'd paid extra to make sure it remained unlisted.

She'd never mentioned the call to her friend.

After that incident, Amelia had thanked her lucky stars that she and her father had reached an understanding about her life. At one point, he'd tried to use guilt to get her to take a job at Carmichael Industries, but her mother's long battle with cancer and her subsequent death had changed Copley Carmichael into a man who had become more concerned with building strong relationships with his children and grandchildren as opposed to architecting more business deals. He hadn't even minded when she'd wanted to be known as Amelia Broadway—Broadway being her mother's maiden name—when she started her business.

Moreover, during the last few years her dad had invested in Amelia's work and had bought her the brownstone in Brooklyn so that she would have a shorter commute. Much to everyone's satisfaction, her brother had pretty much taken over Carmichael Industries. And Amelia couldn't help but to be proud of Paul, who managed to run a multi-billion dollar company as well as make sure that his wife of ten years and his five children knew that they were his first priority.

As Amelia watched Sookie making something that looked like cornbread, she realized how truly lucky she'd been. While alive, her mother, who was a bit of a free-spirit herself, had always supported Amelia's endeavors, and after her death, it was as if a new father had been given to her and Paul.

Amelia sighed. She had seen the cutthroat world of New York high society, and she knew that Appius Northman was at the center of that world. A decade before, her father had been standing right next to him. However, the Northman patriarch was no longer a part of her father's life as far as Amelia could tell. She'd heard rumors about something happening at one of the NP January parties—something involving Appius's stepdaughter, Nora, throwing herself at Amelia's father not long after her mother had died. But Amelia didn't know the details. However, she did know that Appius hadn't been invited to Copley's recent sixtieth birthday party, though many of the most powerful New Yorkers of her father's generation—including Russell Edgington and Mary Brigant-Crane, Claudine's mother—had been there. Even Niall Brigant, Mary's father, had attended, and he had become a bit of a recluse by most accounts.

But Appius Northman hadn't been welcome. Amelia couldn't help but to take that as a sign that Appius hadn't been accepting of her father's life changes. So—it stood to reason that he would be even less tolerant of his son's personal desires.

Amelia took a deep breath. She was still concerned about Sookie—maybe even more than she had been before. But her friend deserved to find happiness when and where she could, and Amelia wouldn't begrudge her for that. She took another breath. What Sookie needed wasn't judgment or endless questioning about the man she loved; what she needed was a friend who would be there when her heart was inevitably broken, and Amelia was determined to be that friend.

Amelia broke the somewhat awkward silence that had arisen between the two women. "I won't tell anyone about you and Eric," she promised. "And I'll do anything I can to help you two."

Sookie gave her a smile. "Thanks. I wanted you to know mostly because I think Eric and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. I'm not sure if it will be here or at his place, but I—uh—don't like the idea of spending the night without him." She sighed. "We haven't made any decisions about where we're going to live yet, but," she paused, "I think it will be together. "We make each other feel better."

"Oh?" Amelia asked, as she tried to lighten the mood in the room. Her eyebrow rose as she latched on to the naughtiest possible connotation of Sookie's words. "Is Eric Northman the stallion in the sack that rumor claims him to be?"

"Amelia!" Sookie said sharply, dropping her spoon into the soup pot.

"What?" Amelia asked with false innocence as she handed Sookie a dishrag so that she could clean up the splatter of soup now on the stove. "You are the one that said he makes you feel better."

"That's not what I meant," Sookie said with exasperation as she carefully fished out the spoon and then washed it off.

"But you guys have had sex—right?" Amelia fished. Sookie immediately blushed brightly, and Amelia smiled, having gotten her answer.

Sookie bit her lip. "Yes," she responded. "Last night was our first time, and it was," she paused, "nice."

"Only nice?"

Sookie smiled. "No—not just nice. Actually, there's not a good enough word for what it was like to be with Eric," Sookie said with stars in her eyes. "He was wonderful."

"I want details," Amelia said, looking like a dog who'd just found a juicy bone.

Sookie shook her head. "Sorry, but that's all you're going to get." She chuckled at Amelia's crestfallen look. "Anyway, what I was referring to before—when I said that he makes me feel better—was that I've been sleeping better."

Amelia's face immediately became more serious and thoughtful. "That's really good, Sookie," she said, knowing that her friend often had a difficult time falling and staying asleep. On many occasions, Amelia had been woken up by Sookie's loud nightmares even though her bedroom was on the other side of the house. And she had also heard the floorboards creak some nights as Sookie would get water from the kitchen or pace for hours in the living room.

Before Amelia could say anything else, the door buzzer rang. The brunette couldn't help but to notice Sookie's expression lighten noticeably. She looked—for the first time that Amelia had known her—truly happy.

"Can you stir this while I go answer the door?" Sookie asked excitedly.

Amelia smiled. "Sure. Just don't be too long. You know how things tend to burn around me," she laughed.

"Be back in a minute," Sookie promised, practically dashing from the room.

Yes—Amelia promised herself—she would do what she could to try to keep Sookie's smile on her face as long as she could. God knows—if there was one person on the planet who was due for a measure of happiness, it was Sookie Stackhouse.


	37. Moving

Chapter 37: Moving

"Well," Eric remarked as he brought the corvette to a stop at the traffic light at 12th Avenue and 42nd Street, "telling Amelia was relatively painless. Your friend seems," he paused, "accepting—despite the circumstances."

Sookie nodded. "Yeah. I think she just wants me to be happy."

Eric and Sookie shared a little smile until the light turned green and the cab driver behind them honked his horn.

"Oops," Eric chuckled as he tore his gaze from Sookie and put the car into gear.

It was almost 3:30; they'd stayed at Amelia's brownstone for nearly two hours after Eric got there—just long enough to eat, clean up the kitchen, chat with Amelia a little, and pack some of Sookie's things. Eric had been surprised that her housemate hadn't been more critical of his and Sookie's relationship. Amelia had been—for lack of a better word—"friendly," and it was clear that she supported Sookie. Eric was glad about that.

He held in a sigh as he focused on the dense traffic in front of him, glad that it was moving pretty quickly. As expected, his meeting with his father, Andre, and the Faemans hadn't been pleasant. Appius had given him a list of changes—some reasonable and some ridiculous—that he thought should be made to the agreement with Guangzhou Press.

While his contract with Appius gave Eric ultimate control over the international division of NP, he still had to submit reports on all of his activities as well as "consider all revisions" suggested by his father. Eric had learned the hard way what would happen if he didn't incorporate at least some of Appius's suggestions into the deals he forged. Several times—when Eric had completely ignored Appius's proposed revisions—the elder Northman had basically torpedoed Eric's deals by calling the CEOs of the companies Eric had wanted to work with and hinting that Eric didn't have his support on the deals. Appius had done similar things with up-and-coming international authors, whom Eric had been working to sign.

Yes—though it was a pain in the ass—it was better to try to appease his father to a certain extent. And a few of Appius's proposals could be easily incorporated into the contract. Others would take some tweaking, but Eric knew he could have a new draft finished by 6:00, which was the deadline Appius had given him for a revised report on the project. Indeed, Eric had learned to anticipate the kinds of changes his father would advocate; thus, a new draft was already mostly completed.

After that would come the really stressful part. Appius would likely have more "recommendations," which he'd wait until 7:00 or 7:30 to send. Then Eric would have to scramble to get everything in order before his conference call. He'd hoped that he would be able to spend much of the afternoon and early evening with Sookie, but now that wasn't going to happen, though he was determined to spend a little bit of time with her before he started working—as long as the traffic continued to cooperate.

"You okay?" Sookie asked.

"Yeah," Eric responded. Grateful that Sookie had pulled him from his stress-filled thoughts, he glanced over to smile at her.

"You looked a little tense," she observed perceptively.

"I was just thinking about work tonight—planning the stuff I have to do before my conference call."

Sookie bit her lip nervously. "You'll have time—right? I hope that coming to Brooklyn to get me didn't set back your schedule."

"No," Eric quickly assured as he briefly took his hand off of the gear shift to squeeze hers. "If anything, it gave me a much-needed break after my meeting with Appius."

"Okay," she said.

A bigger smile formed on his lips.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm just happy that you're staying with me through next Monday. I figured I'd have a harder time convincing you."

Her own expression clouded a little.

"What is it?" Eric asked, concern filling his voice. "I didn't pressure you into staying—did I? Uh—you don't have to stay that long, Sookie." His voice quieted as she saw something akin to resignation quickly replace the happiness that had been in his eyes. "You don't have to stay at all," he added.

Quickly, she reached out and put her hand over his on the gear shift. "No, Eric! It's not that! I want to stay with you, and I'm glad to be staying until Monday."

"Then why did you look sad just now?" he asked.

She sighed. "I know it's silly, but I was thinking about next Tuesday and wondering about how often we'll have to be apart."

He immediately looked relieved. "Um—I was hoping that I could join you during the weeknights next week. Maybe we could switch off between staying at your place and mine—if that's what you want."

"Oh!" she said, also looking relieved. "That'd be fine, but you'd really be willing to come all the way to Brooklyn like that?"

"Of course," Eric responded quickly. He took a deep breath and looked over at her, though he kept one eye on the traffic. "Actually, I have another idea, but I thought it would be too soon to raise it. But I want to raise it, Sookie—at least so that you can begin thinking about it. You don't have to decide right away."

"Okay," she said tentatively, "what's your idea?"

"I want you to move in with me," he suggested anxiously.

"You do?" she asked, shock clearly registering in her tone. "Like—officially move in—and not just stay over?"

He nodded and nervously ran his left hand through his hair. "I'm not asking you to give up your room at Amelia's if you don't want to," he said cautiously. "But I don't want to spend another night without you, and I want to," he paused, "feel what it's like to have a home with you—a home where I know we'll both be every night." He took a breath. "At my place, we are closer to work. Appius would get suspicious if it got back to him that we arrived at work together every day, but the red line isn't far from the house, and it'd be a little shorter commute for you. It's only a five minute walk to the subway station. And—Henry could drop you off and pick you up when it gets colder." He dragged his hand through his hair again as she sat quietly, a startled expression still on her face. "Just think about it. It doesn't have to be right away. Truthfully, I'd be happy to move into your room in Brooklyn—if that's what you want. Or—uh—we can just leave things as they are. I don't really know how to do this," he rambled nervously. "And we haven't been together long, so you probably think I'm crazy."

He looked away and shifted gears as if angry at himself.

"If you're crazy, then I am too," Sookie said, finally finding her voice. "Let's make this week of me staying with you a kind of dress-rehearsal—okay? If we still feel the same next Monday, I'll move the rest of my things to your place. My room in Brooklyn is too small for us—especially given the fact that you pretty much hang off the bed." She only paused to take half a breath; she too was rambling—just as nervously as he'd been doing a minute before. "Amelia told me before we left today that she wasn't going to rent my room to anyone else—that she'd hold it for me until I needed it again if I moved in with you. She even told me that she didn't need me to pay rent anymore—that she only took me on as a renter in the first place as a favor to Luna, Sam Merlotte's wife, when Sam was helping me find a place to stay on short notice. But I wouldn't feel right not paying her, so I'm going to pay her half rent—to hold the room. She agreed to take that," Sookie finished as she finally ran out of air.

"Oh—okay," Eric said, not quite knowing how to feel. On the one hand he was ecstatic that Sookie had already been considering the logistics of moving in with him; on the other hand, he knew that she'd eventually be forced to leave him—to move back into that room Amelia was holding for her. "So you're really going to live with me?" he asked, wanting to clarify—actually feeling the need to be pinched to ensure that he wasn't dreaming.

"Well—it is practical for me to live with you," she said, looking at him with a little smirk.

"Practical," he said with a gulp, immediately recalling how they'd taken a shower together that morning because of practicality.

"Yes—practical. Your place is closer to Claudine's office and the MET, as well as work. And," she answered, her smirk turning into a melancholy smile, "maybe if we glut ourselves on each other by living together, we'll eventually get tired of one another."

Eric sighed and shook his head. "Now that—I can't imagine. But I'd be glad to try if it means being with you all the time."

They were quiet for a few minutes as Eric weaved expertly through the New York traffic.

"I think I should call Bobby tomorrow," Eric said.

"Oh?" Sookie asked.

"He'll have ideas about how we can keep our relationship a secret from my father. Appius's spies are predictable, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep an eye on them regardless. And occasionally the paparazzi will follow me, though they've not done so since last year—when the Freyda de Castro scandal lost steam."

"So—uh—what could Bobby do about the paparazzi?"

Eric chuckled. "The easier question to answer is what he couldn't do. He's got several contacts in the press, and he'll know how to help keep our picture out of Page Six if we are photographed together enough for someone to notice a pattern."

Sookie sighed deeply. "Okay. You're right. We should call him."

Eric spoke in a somewhat tortured tone, "I wish that we didn't have to worry about such things. I would be proud to have you on my arm—all the time. Everywhere. I want you to know that. I don't want to hide. I hate it."

"I know," Sookie responded. "And I don't want you to keep apologizing for this. It is what it is. I don't want to spend all our time together being sad." She sat up straighter as her resolve flowed through her. "What I want to do is to live our lives fully and without regret—especially without regret for things that can't be changed or haven't even happened yet. I want to enjoy you—and us. And if Bobby can help us do that, then I'm a fan of his already."

"Bobby will probably seem a little off-putting at first," Eric cautioned, "but I'm sure he'll like you."

"How do you know?" Sookie asked nervously.

"Because," Eric started, "even though I . . . ." He raked his hand through his hair again. "Even though I haven't always felt able to reciprocate, Bobby has treated me like a brother for a long time. And," his voice softened, "he'll be able to tell how happy you make me."

Sookie smiled. "Amelia likes you for the same reason," she remarked. "And she also promised not to say anything about us."

"She told me that too—that she wouldn't say anything," Eric said as he shifted gears. "I'd forgotten before, but I briefly met Amelia once—about ten years ago. Her father's house in the Hamptons is close to Bobby's great-uncle's place, and I spent a week there with Bobby when his own place in New York was being redone. Amelia came by the house to see if Claudine was in town, but she wasn't. I didn't put two and two together because Amelia introduced herself as 'Amy'; plus, she didn't stay long once she found out Claudine wasn't there. I'm not even sure if she's met Bobby."

"That's weird," Sookie observed—since Amelia and Claudine are best friends, and Claudine and Bobby are cousins."

Eric chuckled. "Claudine tried to set Bobby up on a blind date once; since then, he hasn't been agreeable to meeting any of Claudine's friends."

Sookie smiled at him. "So—I assume the date went badly?"

Eric nodded. "According to Bobby, the woman, who had gone to school with Claudine, tried to psychoanalyze him all night. She eventually proclaimed that he was antisocial and afraid of commitment because he didn't want to accompany her to her sister's wedding the next day."

"No wonder he was afraid to meet any of Claudine's other friends," Sookie giggled.

"Yeah. And he's never been one to go to society parties and whatnot—even though he's related to the Brigants—so he wouldn't have had the chance to meet Amelia that way either." He chuckled. "Bobby is sort of antisocial—at least when it comes to being in large groups."

"Oh," she sounded, taking in that information about the person who was probably closest to Eric.

They were silent for a minute.

"You know—it's funny," Eric mused. "If I hadn't been sent to boarding school, I probably would have been friends with Amelia and Claudine growing up—instead of Bobby, though we might have eventually met anyway."

Sookie nodded. "I was thinking about that too—that you'd have been friends with Amelia since your fathers were close."

Eric spoke quietly. "It's weird to think about all the people that might have been my friends if I'd grown up like Pam and Nora. They both have tons of friends—despite the fact that they can be," he paused, "difficult to take at times." He sighed. "I've tried to make friends since I moved to New York, but doing that is," he paused again, "difficult for me. I'm not so good at it."

Sookie gave him a sad smile. "I would like to have more friends too, but making them is hard for me too."

"We could practice together," Eric suggested softly, "if you want."

"Okay. How should we—uh—do that?"

Eric thought for a minute. "We can invite people over to our house. Bobby's always wanted me to learn how to play poker."

Sookie smiled at Eric's use of "our."

"A poker night? That sounds fun," she commented. "Whom will we invite?"

"Uh—Amelia and Bobby?"

"And maybe Henry and Blake?" Sookie volunteered.

"And Claudine."

"Oh—we could invite Ben," Sookie suggested.

"And some of the other guards from the MET."

"And maybe some from your building too."

"Our building," Eric corrected softly, taking his hand off the gear shift to hold hers for a moment.

She smiled. "Our building," she repeated.

"And maybe Amelia's brother, Paul, too—and his wife? But that's complicated," Eric said, furrowing his brow.

"How so?" Sookie asked.

"Well—I know Paul a little. But maybe we should invite only people that already know we're a couple," he suggested quietly. "And then we'll work on new friends later."

She nodded. "You're probably right."

As they arrived at Carmichael Plaza, Eric reached under his seat to press the button that would open the gate to the private parking garage for the people who lived in the tower section of the building. Not surprisingly, the security system was very high-tech and the gate openers were keyed to respond only if they were in authorized vehicles and activated by authorized users.

"We're lucky," Sookie said as Eric parked the car. "We're really, really lucky!"

Eric looked at her and smiled. "Yes."

"We have each other now," she said.

"Yes."

"And we have more people around us who would be our friends than I've ever experienced before," she added, sounding astounded.

He nodded. "Me too."

She reached out to take his hand as he turned off the ignition.

"You and I are going to be happy," she commented with certainty in her voice.

"You're an incredible woman, Sookie Stackhouse," Eric said, the emotion thick in his voice as he gazed at her lovingly.

"Thanks," she said, taking the compliment with a blush—but taking it nonetheless.

Both she and Eric noticed and enjoyed the progress.


	38. Pictures, Part 1

Chapter 38: Pictures, Part 1

Life is a canvas of many strokes where shades from different palettes meet into a picture so concrete that some forget it is their own, so become framed themselves.—Vanna Bonta

"So—what do you think?" Eric asked as Sookie took a moment to study one of the portions of his home that she'd already seen the night before.

"Um—it's certainly monochromatic," Sookie responded as she looked around the long room that lined the side of Eric's home that faced the Hudson River.

He chuckled. She was right. Everything was a shade of gray. "Pam decorated this half of the house," he said. "It's used mainly for parties—not that I have many. But Appius demands that I host small business gatherings from time to time. Luckily, this house is big enough to accommodate a space for them," he paused, "and a space for me."

She nodded and walked around a little.

To take advantage of the view of the river, there were large windows all along the long room, and the space was open. In the middle was a seating area—what Eric had called an informal living room—with a large couch, a couple of chairs, and an oval-shaped coffee table with a glass top. The living room lacked decorations, other than some beautiful crystal pieces. The space was elegant, but "cold."

To one side of the living room was a dining area with a round table and six chairs. That table, too, had a glass top, and the chairs looked comfortable, though heavy. Sookie couldn't help but to wonder how often they were sat in. To the other side of the living room was a small office space with a leather couch, a chair, an oversized ottoman, and a uniquely-shaped desk. Nothing about the large room seemed "lived in" at all.

"Well—it's beautiful," Sookie remarked as she looked at Eric, "just not that homey."

"I don't really spend much time in this part of the house," he admitted. "I know that's a waste, but I like the living area on the other side of the house better."

Sookie smiled. "Well—it is beautiful. It just doesn't seem like you."

"Like I said," Eric commented nervously, "sometimes I have to host cocktail parties here for important clients of my division of NP or for members of my team. The desk is there in case any business has to be done at them. It's also where I teleconference when I'm at home, but I usually work in my office on the other side of the house."

Sookie nodded as she took in everything around her.

"It really is a waste of space," Eric sighed. "I usually only walk through this part of the house to get to the kitchen or to the balcony. And I hate that room," Eric said, pointing to the lounge area between the foyer and what Sookie was already thinking of as the 'gray side' of Eric's home.

She looked at the lounge. It was a good-sized interior room with two large curved sofas facing each other. It too was gray. "Why do you hate it?" she asked.

"Appius is often in attendance at the cocktail parties I host, and that's where he likes to," Eric paused, "hold court."

She nodded in understanding. "So how often do you have parties?"

"Just three or so times a year," Eric said, dragging his hand through his hair. "That's really the only time my father comes here, however, so that's good."

Sookie nodded again.

"Pam always organizes the functions. My only job is to schmooze." He chuckled, but Sookie could tell that his heart wasn't in it. "There will be one here in September when a delegation from China visits New York. That one I'm looking forward to—however. I like the people I'm working with from Guangzhou Press."

Sookie nodded. "I'll ask Amelia if I can stay in Brooklyn when there are parties here."

Eric sighed resignedly. "Okay. Or you could stay in the other part of the house. I block that part off, but," he paused, "Brooklyn would be safer."

A look of acceptance settled across her features. "It's okay, Eric. We'll work it out."

He bent down to give her a lingering kiss on her forehead and then took her hand, leading her to the kitchen. "You saw this room already—of course—but I want you to know that you should make yourself welcome—in any part of the house. Feel free to move stuff around, or let me know if you need something that's not here."

He took a small notebook from one of the drawers in the kitchen island; the first page had a grocery list started. Sookie noticed that there was a stack of delivery menus in the drawer too, which wasn't surprising since he'd told her that he ordered in most nights. She glanced at the grocery list and noticed things like bread, sandwich fixings, and fresh fruits and vegetables—foods that didn't require much preparation before eating.

"Thalia shops every Thursday," Eric informed. "I keep this list, so add whatever you like. I drop it off at the front desk for her every Thursday on my way to work."

"Actually," Sookie said as she bit her lip nervously, "Thalia did shop. That's something I wanted to talk to you about. Now that we're gonna be living together, I want to do the cooking. And I certainly don't want anyone cleaning up after me."

"But Sookie . . . ," Eric started.

"No—I don't need anyone taking care of things like my grocery shopping," Sookie interrupted, her innate—though long-buried—stubbornness bubbling to the surface. Her tone surprised them both, and it also made them smile.

"Are we going to have a fight now?" Eric asked as if the idea were novel to him.

"If you think I'm gonna let someone else pick up after me—then yes," Sookie responded, surprising herself with her own vehemence. The closest she'd ever had to a fight with Bill happened the day she found out about Lorena and his job with the FBI. And that argument was one-sided. She'd told him quietly that she didn't want to see him again, and he'd yelled at and pleaded with her from outside of her apartment for hours. However, it hadn't really been much of a confrontation—especially after one of her neighbors called the police when Bill's pleas became especially noisy.

"Okay—then we fight," Eric said calmly, before taking Sookie's hand and leading her to the lounge. "When we fight, though, we should do it in here."

She looked at him curiously. "Why here?"

"Well—it's already my least favorite room in the house," he answered matter-of-factly. "So I say that—unless you like this room for some reason—we should do our fighting in here so we don't spoil the rest of the house."

She smiled at his reasoning. "Okay."

As they sat down next to each other on one of the long couches, Sookie noticed that each sofa looked as if it could seat at least eight Eric-sized people.

"So—I'll start—okay?" he asked.

"Okay," she agreed.

He took a deep breath. "I figured that you would resist the idea of someone doing all the stuff that Thalia does for me, but I have some things for you to consider."

"Okay," she said again.

"First, this is a larger space than Amelia's, especially since there are many rooms that you are not responsible for cleaning in that house."

"True," Sookie relented.

"And, while you were in the bathroom today, I asked Amelia what she did about housework," he said a little guiltily. "And she told me that she has a cleaning person come once a week."

Sookie sighed. "Yes—but that person never cleaned up my room, and I always kept the kitchen clean since I was the once who used it."

Eric squeezed her hand, which he was still holding. "Okay—good point. But taking care of this place gives Thalia part of her income. I know that she could find something else, but I'm not particularly messy or demanding, and I pay her well for what basically amounts to eight workdays per month."

"Okay—good point," Sookie relented echoing Eric's words, "but what about the fact that Thalia will now have to clean up after two people?"

"I could offer her a raise," Eric tried.

Sookie rolled her eyes.

"How about we compromise?" Eric asked.

"Okay—what's your idea?"

"I don't have one yet," Eric admitted. "But I know that compromise is good for settling a fight."

She giggled. "I wouldn't know; this is my first real fight with someone I'm—uh—involved with. Bill and I didn't fight."

"Oh," he said, "this is my first fight too."

She smiled. "Okay—I think that compromise would be good."

Eric smiled back at her. "Well—how about this? On the nights when you aren't too tired from work, I'd be happy to let you cook for me to your heart's content because you know I love your cooking, and I know that you like to cook. On the nights you're tired or get home late, we can order in. And I think Thalia should still pick up our list of things each week. She uses one of the building's SUVs, so transporting a lot of items is easy for her." He ran his hand through his hair. "I know you usually carry your groceries in that little trolley you have at Amelia's, but if you're shopping for two people, you might not be able to do that—especially since I sometimes have heavy things on the list, like a twelve-pack of beer or something," he said reasonably.

Sookie sighed. "I can live with that compromise—on one condition."

"Okay," Eric said with relief. "What is it?"

"Do you work on Saturdays?"

"Sometimes, but usually I can get away with doing any weekend work I have from home. Why?"

"Well—I actually like shopping for food and letting the fresh ingredients I see inspire me a little, especially in New York where there are so many things to try. So I want to go to the market on Saturday mornings—maybe while you're working—and then I can make a meal that takes more time on Saturday evenings. Plus, I like to pre-make several meals for the week on Saturdays. It's easier to heat things up after work rather than to start from scratch."

He smiled brightly. "Okay. See? We do compromising well!"

"We aren't done," Sookie said, barely containing her laughter at the boyish grin on Eric's face. "I really don't like the idea of someone cleaning up after me."

Eric's eyebrows furrowed a little. "I'm pretty neat, actually. I pick up after myself, so all Thalia does is clean the floors and dust a couple of times a month. I think she rotates the rooms each week. Oh—and she cleans the bathrooms and does the laundry too. And she takes care of my dry cleaning."

Sookie sighed. "Okay—I'll accept her doing the floors and the dusting in most of the house, but I'd like to take care of your bedroom and bathroom and the kitchen—since I'll be using it so much."

"Our bedroom," he corrected. "Our bathroom."

She smiled. "Yes—ours. Oh—and I'll probably do spot cleaning in the rest of the house too—especially on the days before Thalia comes."

"So you'll clean before she cleans?" Eric asked, looking a bit mystified.

"Hey!" she said playfully. "We're compromising! Oh—and she can still take care of the dry cleaning, but I'll do the rest of the laundry. I don't like the thought of someone else touching my undies."

"How about if I touch your undies," he purred, leaning in close and then raining ticklish kisses along her neck and shoulder.

Giggling, she pushed him away. "Don't you have work to do, buddy?"

"Buddy?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sookie winked. "I'm trying out pet names."

"Not buddy," he said with mock sternness.

She giggled.

"Hey," he said with sudden realization, "are we done with our fight?"

"I think Claudine would call this a discussion—or a negotiation—but yes."

Eric looked somewhat disappointed.

"What?" Sookie asked.

"Fights are followed by make-up sex," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

She giggled. "I think you have a one track mind, mister!"

"Mister?"

She shrugged. "Better?"

He shook his head in an exaggerated way, causing her to giggle again.

"I'll keep trying," she said with a grin.

"Hey—can we fight over your pet names for me?" he asked hopefully.

She giggled again. "You just want make-up sex."

"Yeah," he admitted without apology.

"Don't you need to work?" she reminded.

"Okay," he relented, getting up from the couch and pulling her up too. "But I have a few more minutes, and I want to show you my favorite part of the house anyway," he said sarcastically.

"I thought you showed me that last night," she responded, waggling her own eyebrows.

He chuckled. "You don't make it easy for me to think about work, Miss Stackhouse," he growled before tickling her sides.

She chortled and tried to wiggle away from him.

Finally, when she was gasping for air, he let her go and made her gasp even more when he dipped her and gave her a toe-curling kiss. "After work," he panted. "You. Are. Mine."

With a dazed look in her eyes, she nodded.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Unfortunately, I really do need to get my report finalized. Dear old dad wants me to email it to Andre before 6:00, and then I'm sure that he'll have some more 'suggestions' which I'll have to try to integrate without fucking up the whole deal," he said, his tone edged with bitterness. "Guangzhou is thirteen hours ahead of us. I have my first conference call scheduled from 9:00-10:00 p.m. our time. After that, I'll likely have some more work to do before our follow-up call at 2:00 a.m. our time. But I'll have some breaks," he said, leering at her and enjoying the resulting blush on her cheeks.

He took her hand and kissed it before leading her to the master bedroom suite. Sookie took a moment to take in the sitting room, which led to Eric's bedroom. It too was somewhat monochromatic, but the room was much warmer and more inviting than the "gray side" of the house. She didn't have time to really study the room, however, before Eric was tugging gently on her hand. It was then that she noticed that he was carrying the largest of her bags for the week—the old and tattered suitcase that Gran had given her when she'd left for college.

Initially, Sookie had been concerned that she was bringing too much with her since the original plan had been for her to stay at Eric's for only a week, but she'd needed a couple of work outfits, which required her to bring a garment bag, which was still in Eric's foyer. She'd also stuffed her backpack with some library books, and she'd had to bring her laptop too. All told, the corvette's tiny trunk had been packed. However, Eric had shrugged off the number of bags she'd brought with her, telling her that when Pam traveled for a week, she always took so many bags that a special car had to be hired to accommodate her luggage, especially for the return trip since her number of suitcases always grew exponentially while she was on vacation.

Eric led her into a walk-in closet that was off of the sitting room and almost as large as her bedroom at Amelia's house. She gasped.

Seeing Sookie's reaction, Eric chuckled.

"The closet was initially planned to be twice as big. However, since Pam and I bought into this building while it was still under construction, we were able to tweak our floor plans. Needless to say, she more than doubled her own closet space, and I halved mine."

Eric motioned to the wall to their right. "The room on the other side of that wall is one of the tweaks I made."

"What's in there?" Sookie asked.

He gave her an impish grin. "You'll find out when you explore the rest of the house while I'm working."

She giggled as he bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he set down her suitcase.

"This closet is still too big for me," he informed, moving a few shirts from one side of the space to the other in order to clear her a whole rack for her clothing. "Pam, of course, designed it," he remarked as he looked around. He chuckled. "And she is determined to fill it too. Every once in a while, I'll come home and find a new suit in here—or something else that Pam deems necessary for me." He sighed. "Of course, unlike her, I'm not a packrat when it comes to clothing. Every year or so, I cycle out the things that I no longer wear and donate them to charity."

Sookie giggled again. "I'm sure that whoever gets the Armani suits is grateful."

Eric grinned. "Actually, the charity I give the clothing to provides business attire for people who can't afford it on their own. It's a Manhattan-based charity. I sometimes imagine that I'm outfitting guys who are fresh out of college and trying to make it in the business world on their own." He winked at her, "At least the tall ones."

She giggled. "I think it's nice that you do that," she observed.

He shrugged. "Pam wouldn't let me hear the end of it if—God forbid—I wore a suit from three years ago." He scoffed. "As if the style of suits changes much. Of course, I don't think I've ever seen her in the same outfit twice."

They shared a laugh at that comment. Eric motioned toward the right side of the closet. "I don't really have much on this side, so it can be your side," he said with excitement in his tone. "Oh—and you can have that dresser too," he said pointing to the object in the middle of the back wall. "I know that there are at least a few empty drawers in it, so those will get you started. By the time you bring the rest of your things, I'll have the rest cleared out for you."

Sookie shook her head. "I couldn't take part of your closet, Eric. I'll just use one in another room or something."

"The guest room is all the way across the house," he informed, moving slightly closer to her. His tone was soft and unsure—as if he were scared of frightening her away. "I know everything about this place probably seems excessive to you, and it is excessive, but it's also my home, and I would very much like it to be your home too—just as much as mine—for as long as it can be. Please, share this space—and all spaces—with me," he finished intensely.

Sookie felt tears welling in her eyes as she leaned upward to place a soft, slow kiss onto his lips. She nodded as she did so and felt his lips turn up into a smile.

They stayed quiet for a few moments as Eric brought her against his chest and held her.

"Thank you," she finally said as she motioned toward the half of the closet that he'd so eagerly given to her. She understood that making room for the few items she owned was not a burden for him, but it was also a deeply symbolic gesture. He'd changed his life to make room for her as if it were the easiest and most natural thing in the world for him to do. And it felt just as natural for her to step into that space.

"You need to work," she reminded once more, looking up at him.

He nodded. "My office is just on the other side of the sitting room," he said as he pointed. "Come see me after you've looked around?"

"Okay," she agreed, "but I wouldn't want to bother you."

"You won't be," he smiled. "I like the idea of you being here. I like the idea of you coming into my office while I'm working just to give me a kiss."

"Then I'll be sure to do that," she said, gazing into his emotion-filled eyes.

Sookie decided that she would unpack before taking her time to explore the rest of the house. Eric had already told her that, while he was working, she should take a self-guided tour so that she could "snoop." Truthfully, she was just glad that she could take the tour slowly—so as not to be overwhelmed. She went back to the foyer area and grabbed her backpack and her garment bag, leaving her computer bag because she wasn't sure where she'd be keeping it.

Once she was back in the closet, she smiled a little as she took her work clothes out of the garment bag and hung them up on the rack that Eric had cleared for her. Next, she tentatively opened the drawers in the dresser he said she could use. It had four drawers—with the top one narrower than the others. As Eric had said, there wasn't much in the dresser. Sookie figured that was because there were several other drawer units in the closet.

She found some warm-looking sweaters folded in the lowest drawer, but the top three drawers were empty. She unzipped her suitcase and was easily able to fit her underwear, pantyhose, and socks into the upper drawer. She'd brought a couple of pairs of jeans and several pairs of flannel sleep pants, as well as some T-shirts, shorts, nightgowns, a sweater, and a hoodie. She quickly put those into the other drawers and then found some empty hangers for the nicer blouses that she'd brought to go with her suits. She made a mental note that she'd need to buy hangers since the ones that she was using at Amelia's house actually belonged to her roommate.

Sookie stowed her work pumps, tennis shoes, and sandals on an empty shelf made for holding shoes and then stood back to look for a moment at her things in Eric's closet. The sight made her smile. She took out her bag of bathroom items and made sure the suitcase was empty before putting the unpacked garment bag inside of it. She looked around, trying to figure out where she should put her luggage. She looked up and saw Eric's luggage housed on the top shelves of the walk-in closet, but there was no way she could reach that high without a ladder, so she opted to just ask Eric for help later.

Before leaving the closet, she decided that she would change clothes—just as she would if she were at Amelia's house; after all, she was "home" at Eric's now. It would just take her a while to get used to all the "bells and whistles" of Eric's place—their place, at least until their time was up. Banishing that thought from her mind, Sookie maneuvered out of her bra without taking off her T-shirt and then changed from her cargo pants to flannel lounge pants. Earlier, she'd noticed that Eric's house was a little cooler than she was used to, which was why she'd brought them to hang out in, despite the hot temperature outside. She put on a pair of ankle socks and then looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked comfortable—for lack of a better word—and there was a smile on her face and a lightness in her eyes. Grabbing her bathroom bag, Sookie exited the closet and went through the sitting room into the master bedroom and then into the master bathroom. She was beginning to notice that Eric's house was a little like a maze. There were lots of rooms leading to other rooms, instead of hallways leading to rooms. But she sort of liked the close-in feeling of the house, especially the parts that seemed to fit Eric's personality, like the bedroom and bathroom.

It didn't take Sookie long to find homes for her few bathroom items. She already had a new toothbrush in the holder—thanks to the fact that Eric had put one on his list of things for Thalia the get the Thursday before. There was an empty drawer in the cabinets across from the sink, and it was a perfect size to house her make-up, hairbrush, and lotion, as well as the few other things that she would bring over from Amelia's. However, she was actually pretty low maintenance about her "beauty regimen." She found a medicine cabinet where she put the sleeping pills and the anti-anxiety medication that Claudine had prescribed for her. She noticed that the medicine cabinet held Eric's deodorant, some cologne, some Tylenol, and several medicine bottles similar to her own. Eric and she had already talked about their respective prescriptions and how they tried not to use them. She blushed deep red when she noticed two large boxes of condoms as she was closing the cabinet. She couldn't help but to wonder if Eric had put those on Thalia's list too.

Shaking off her embarrassment, she found spots for her shampoo, conditioner, face wash, shaving cream, and razor on one of the vacant shelves in the shower. Her stowing done, Sookie availed herself of the toilet and then took her empty bathroom bag to the closet.

Seeing that her backpack was the last thing left to unpack, she grabbed the library books that she'd brought—including the ones that Eric had checked out the Saturday before—and decided to place most of them in Eric's sitting room on the round glass coffee table. Finding the comfortable-looking lounge chair next to the table impossible to resist, she tested it and promised herself that she would spend many quality hours reading there. She closed her eyes for a few minutes. She could barely make out the low sound of instrumental music and the tapping of fingers on a key board from the next room.

She exhaled and smiled as she thought about Eric in his office, only a room away. With a sigh, she got up, grabbing two of the books from the pile—the one Eric had been working on the last night they'd spent in Brooklyn and the one she'd been reading—she took them into the bedroom. She placed Eric's on the nightstand on his side of the bed and then put hers on the nightstand on her side.

Then Sookie spent a moment really looking at her new bedroom; the night before it had—understandably—been a blur in the midst of thrown clothing. The bedroom was sparsely decorated in light browns and creams, except for a unique-looking blue lounge chair and ottoman near the door leading to the terrace. The bed was humongous—definitely a California King or maybe even bigger—which wasn't surprising, given Eric's height. The bed, the nightstands, the lounge chair, and a thin bed bench were the only pieces of furniture in the large room.

Sookie studied the beautiful black and white photographs on the wall opposite the bed. Some of them were landscapes, but there were two with people in them. One had a picture of Eric, Pam, and a beautiful older woman, whom Sookie figured was Eric's mormor. Another one was of a young Eric—probably no more than three years old—with a gorgeous blond woman; Sookie knew immediately that it had to be his mother. The two had been caught in a candid moment. Little Eric, already gangly and slender—and already looking so much like himself—was leaning into his mother, who was looking down at him and seemingly wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth. She too was obviously tall and slim. She looked at ease and happy—like the kind of person that everyone would feel comfortable being around. And though Sookie couldn't see the color of her eyes, she guessed them to be about Eric's shade based on the lightness of them in the black and white photo.

Sookie sat down on the bed and thought about the pictures she owned. She had only two. One was a small, slightly blurry Polaroid print; it was the only picture she had of her father. She'd stolen it before moving to Gran's. It was of her father next to a Christmas tree. An infant Jason was sitting on his lap.

Sookie closed her eyes and lay down for a moment. She let a few tears fall as she thought about how her mother had made her burn all of the pictures with her in them after her father had died. Her mother had made a game of it when she decided that Sookie needed to be "punished" after she'd been unable to tell her any significant gossip after church one day.

Sookie trembled a little. She'd been fourteen when that particular punishment had happened. Her father had died only three months before that. Sookie had been required to build a fire in the family hearth. And Michelle had stacked all the pictures in front of her. In actuality, there hadn't been many pictures of Sookie anyway, but some had needed to be taken over the years—just so that Corbett wouldn't suspect Michelle's abiding hatred for her daughter. The school pictures had been the first to be burned as Michelle and sometimes Jason provided commentary about each photograph—pointing out every flaw they saw in Sookie.

It had been Sookie, of course, who had been required to place the pictures into the fire after she "listened" to what her mother and her brother had to say about them.

One by one, the pictures had all turned to ash.

She felt more hot tears stinging her eyes as she remembered what it felt like to see the evidence of her life go up in flames—the photo paper curling up with black edges before finally disappearing into the fire. She'd not cried when it happened, and she'd not thought about the event for years, but now—as she looked at the beautiful photograph of a mother and her beloved child—she couldn't help herself.

"Sookie?" came Eric's soft, concerned voice as he entered the bedroom.


	39. Pictures, Part 2

Chapter 39: Pictures, Part 2

Eric hadn't heard Sookie's quiet whimpers until he was almost at the bedroom door. The sight that met him as he entered the room made his heart throb with pain. She was lying on her side, her eyes swollen and wet from tears that were still falling. His first fear was that he'd somehow hurt her—or that their situation had gotten to her.

"Sookie?" he said softly so that he wouldn't startle her.

At first, she didn't seem to hear him, so he approached slowly.

"Min sol," he whispered, as he tentatively sat down next to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Sookie immediately sat up straight and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands—as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. Eric reached into his nightstand and pulled out a handkerchief. He held it out to her, making sure to keep his movements slow.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I didn't mean to cry."

"It's okay. You're not doing anything wrong," he said, offering her a little smile.

She sniffled and took the handkerchief from him. "My dad used to carry these."

"My morfar too," he responded.

They sat silently for a few moments as she blew her nose and calmed herself. Eric noticed that her eyes kept traveling to the corner of the room, and he felt the intense need to pull them back to him.

"What's wrong, min kära?" he asked again.

"What does 'min kära' mean?" she asked instead of answering his question.

"It's an endearment in Swedish. It's like 'my dear.'" He smiled a little, happy—if only for a few moments—to help distract her from whatever had upset her. "I've never liked English endearments, maybe because the people saying them always sound so fake. My morfar used to call my mormor 'min kära.'"

She smiled softly in return, though another tear chose that moment to fall as well. "And min sol? Is that 'my sun'?"

He leaned toward her and kissed her forehead gently. "Yes. That is what you are to me."

"I didn't interrupt your work—did I? With my crying?" she asked apprehensively.

He shook his head. "I didn't hear you. I just needed the bathroom."

"Oh—well—you should go and then get back to work."

"It can wait; I just sent the report to Andre. And," Eric paused, "knowing my father, he will put off his response until the last minute—just to make things more difficult for me."

Sookie nodded in understanding.

"Will you tell me what had you crying?" he asked. "Are you overwhelmed? Please tell me it's nothing I've done."

"No. Nothing you've done," she answered quickly. She looked at the wall opposite the bed. "I was looking at your pictures."

"The landscapes?" he asked. "Pam took those when she was about seventeen and into photography. They're all taken near my mormor and morfar's home on Lake Vänern. I always loved them. Pam gave those to me as a housewarming gift."

"And the family pictures?" Sookie asked, gesturing toward the wall. "That's your mormor with you and Pam? And that's your mom?"

Eric nodded even as another tear tripped from Sookie's eye.

"Please, Sookie. Please, tell me what's wrong," he implored, hating to see her cry.

She looked up at him with sad eyes. "How long until you have to work again?"

He glanced at the clock next to the bed. "Appius will probably have Andre email his suggestions to me at about 7:00, so there's time. And even if there wasn't, I'd make time. Please—Sookie," he said, his eyes joining in with his verbal pleas, "why did the pictures upset you?"

She sighed deeply and unconsciously moved so that her legs were against her chest, her arms around her knees. Eric recognized it immediately as a defensive position, so he kept his distance, except for one hand lying gently on her sock-clad foot.

"I was thinking about the two photos I have. Can I bring them here?"

"Of course," Eric answered quickly. "You can bring over everything you have. We'll even put your pictures up there if you want," he said gesturing toward the wall.

She managed to smile at him again. "They're too small for that."

"Are they the pictures on your nightstand in Brooklyn?"

Sookie nodded.

Eric had looked at the pictures several times throughout the week. One was very small and its color had faded with age. It was of a man holding an infant. Though the picture was a little out of focus, Eric had seen a resemblance between the man and Sookie. The other picture looked as if it had been taken when Sookie was in her late teens. She was posing next to an older woman, whom Eric guessed was Sookie's grandmother.

"Those two pictures are the only ones I have," she commented, looking out the large sliding glass door at the darkening sky of the city.

She didn't say anything else for a minute.

"When was the one of your grandmother and you taken?" Eric asked, intuiting that that photo would be the easier one for Sookie to talk about.

"Right before my high school graduation," she said, her slight smile lingering on her face. "Lafayette took the picture and printed it off for me. Gran didn't have a camera at the time, and—truth be told—she isn't one for taking very many pictures," she added in almost a whisper.

"And the other picture? Is that of you and your dad?" Eric asked more tentatively.

She shook her head sadly as another tear fell from her eye. "No. It's of Daddy and Jason. My mother redid all the photo albums a few months after my dad died," she said, her voice catching on almost every word. "Because it was blurry, she threw that one in the trash." Sookie bit her lip a little as if guilty of a crime. "I stole the picture when I took out the garbage. I hid it by taping it to the underside of the dresser in my room, and when I moved in with Gran, I took it with me. You see," she said as she sniffled and then continued almost mechanically, "because my dad and his parents were estranged, Gran didn't have any pictures of my dad from that time—from the way I remember him. In fact, most of the pictures she had of him from when he was younger were lost when her and Grandpa's first house in New Orleans burned down. She kept the older family pictures in a safe deposit box, but most of the albums that had my dad and my aunt in them were lost."

Eric squeezed Sookie's foot in support and was heartened when she reached out to take his hand.

She kept speaking as if compelled to go on. "My mother had to redo the albums because she had punished me. There were blank spots in the albums after that punishment, so she had to shift all the pictures."

"Blank spots?" Eric asked with trepidation.

Sookie sighed and nodded. "She took out every single picture that had me in it, and she made me burn them."

Her eyes drifted toward the corner of the room again. Eric hated how haunted they looked. He hated Michelle Stackhouse even more—for being the source of that look.

"In her wallet," Sookie went on, "Gran has a copy of my kindergarten picture, which Daddy sent her in a Christmas card. After that, Daddy and my grandparents didn't exchange cards. You see—Gran and Grandpa Earl didn't visit Bon Temps since they were renting out the old farmhouse. Plus—like I said—my parents and my grandparents were estranged, so I didn't know Gran and Grandpa."

She sighed deeply. "The day I was punished, I came home from school to find my mom already drunk. All the pictures of me were laid out in three stacks on the coffee table. But it was only after I'd cooked dinner that I learned why they were all out." She closed her eyes. "First, my mom made me burn all my school pictures. Then I had to burn pictures where I was with Jason or her—or pictures of our whole family. The last stack of pictures was of just Daddy and me." Sookie shook her head. "I didn't cry as they were burning because I knew that I'd just get punished worse if I did, but I can't seem to keep the tears away now."

A hot tear streamed down Eric's cheek as he listened to Sookie go on resolutely.

"You see—when I cried as a little girl, my mother would get so mad that she would shake me hard by the shoulders. And, most of the time, she'd hit me too—here," she said as she brought her free hand up to indicate her ear. "My ears always hurt so much anyway," she sniffled, "and when she hit them . . . ." Sookie was quiet for a moment as her memory made her quake. "Well—I learned not to cry," she said finally.

With seeming difficulty, Sookie pulled her gaze from the corner to Eric. "That's why you shaking me that once in the elevator at the MET made me freeze up a little. But my mom would do it a lot harder than you did."

"Oh God," Eric said sadly. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, min kära—so sorry."

She squeezed his hand. "It's okay."

"It's not," he insisted quietly.

"No—what she did wasn't okay. And for a long time, I wasn't okay either." Sookie smiled; Eric was relieved when it reached her eyes. "But now I'm okay."

Eric moved so that he could draw her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that she was more than just okay—that she was the best person he'd ever known. But he stayed silent, knowing that his words were not what she needed in that moment.

He held her for a long time, as they both looked out the window, watching the evening sky turn from a pale yellowish gray to a deep blue. Eventually, Sookie's tears stopped, and Eric felt the tension drift from her body as she curled into him fully.

They were interrupted by a beeping from Eric's phone.

He sighed loudly as he looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:15. "That's likely the email from Andre. I should probably go read the damage?" he said as if he were asking her if that would be okay.

Sookie nodded.

"I don't want to leave you," he said.

"I'm fine," she replied, looking up at him. "Just ghosts."

"Ghosts suck," he said, kissing her forehead.

"I thought that was vampires," she punned lamely.

He chuckled. "You're right. Ghosts—uh—are ghoulish," he said cheekily.

A smile lit her face as she giggled at their bad puns. She kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Get to work. I still have to explore, and I'm getting hungry. I'll bring you a sandwich or something in a little while."

"You will?" he asked, surprised. "I mean—you don't have to."

"Then I won't bring it because I have to," she said, kissing him again—this time on the lips. "Now—go potty," she ordered. "You're probably about ready to burst by now. And get to work."

He chuckled, but obeyed her.

Sookie waited for Eric to go back to his office before she got up from the bed. She sighed. Somehow just being close to him had helped her to face one of the worst memories of her life. And his presence—along with Claudine's relaxation techniques—had helped her to stave off the bout of depression that usually accompanied reliving a bad memory so vividly.

"Ghosts," she whispered aloud, even as she looked back at the two pictures of Eric and his family. She couldn't help but to guess that he, too, had limited moments of his life captured on film. Maybe that was why she took her pictures at the MET every week. Maybe she needed to capture an image of something that had survived the test of time, something that thousands and thousands of eyes had beheld—something that was sheltered from fire because of the security measures of the people protecting the artwork.

She sighed as she looked one last time at the pictures. Maybe—it was Eric and she who had truly been the ghosts.

"Until now," she said with a little smile, knowing that she felt nothing like a ghost when she was with him.

She got out of bed and straightened the comforter a little. She smiled as she thought about how Eric and she had made the bed together that morning; that small domestic task had felt so natural with him—as natural as making love to him had felt. She couldn't help her blush as she closed her eyes and remembered how "right" Eric felt inside of her. At first, she'd been nervous about having sex again—especially with Eric. But sometime during the night, her nerves went away—because of Eric. She smiled at the paradox. She'd been worried that she—in her inexperience—wouldn't satisfy him, but she no longer had any doubts about that.

The idea of two lovers fitting together like jigsaw puzzle pieces had become cliché; however, it suited her and Eric. They did "fit." And Sookie could tell that the way they fit was not common. Eric had been with so many women, but that didn't scare Sookie anymore. If anything, it made her surer of him. What they shared now—their connection—was something he'd never felt before, despite his experience. And she could tell that he wouldn't take it for granted—just as she knew that she wouldn't.

Sookie looked once more around Eric's lovely room—their room. She felt peaceful there. And she felt safe and loved. Ironically those comforting feelings had probably been what had enabled her to delve into her bad memory. She had intuited that even if she sank into that memory, she would not drown in it—not when Eric was so close.

She smiled. She was glad to see that Eric didn't have a television in the bedroom. She enjoyed watching shows or movies from time to time, so she was glad that there was one in the sitting room, but she'd never had one in her bedroom before. And, truth be told, she was looking forward to doing other things in bed. She blushed as she thought about all the sex that she and Eric would—no doubt—be having there. But she also looked forward to other things too—like reading together or talking with one another. Having a television in the bedroom might have taken away from those times.

Sookie's stomach growled, and she decided to answer its call; however, first, she wanted to get a little air—to shake the funky mood that was still lingering a little. She went over to the door that led outside and unlocked it before moving out onto the terrace. She grinned happily when she saw that there was a hot tub to her right. There were two chairs and a small table to her left, near the end of the good-sized terrace space. The table was gorgeous, its top a blue mosaic pattern. As she got closer, she noticed that the chairs had a unique design; they didn't have back "legs." Instead, a long rectangular panel made up both the back of the chairs and their "legs."

She also noticed several large—though empty—blue mosaic pots in the corner of the cozy little eating area. She wondered if Eric would mind if she planted some flowers or herbs in them. She closed her eyes and imagined Eric and her having lunch or morning coffee outside, the breeze lacing the air with lavender or jasmine.

With her smile now fixed on her face, Sookie walked toward the hot tub to take a better look at it. There was a small wooden deck built around it, and the tub itself wasn't too big, making her think that Eric saw it as a private oasis. It was, however, certainly large enough for two—even if one of those people was Eric-sized.

Blushing, she continued to walk toward the corner of the building as she enjoyed the view of the darkening New York skyline. She was glad that Eric's house was situated so that it had views of the city, the river, and the park. She was excited to discover that Eric's terrace actually wrapped around the corner of the building—instead of being broken into two separate spaces.

She looked up and saw that the tower seemed to rise in sheer verticality to the roof, which was still several stories away. When she ventured to the edge of the terrace, where a good-sized barrier stood between her and the edge of the building, she looked down, appreciating the large oval base of Carmichael Plaza, which made the building unique.

According to Eric, that base contained many amenities that could be used by anyone who lived at Carmichael Plaza and included a large fitness center; several conference rooms; three large pools, one of them indoors; and even a ballroom, which residents could rent for parties. In addition, tower residents had access to several more amenities, including a private indoor pool, which Eric had promised to show Sookie within the next few days. There were also two subterranean levels, mostly serving as the parking areas for the residents of the structure.

Sookie marveled at the way the tower soared upward for the base. "Beautiful," she said to herself as she studied the building. Every five floors or so, the tower tapered a bit so that once it reached its top, the floors were quite a bit smaller than at the bottom. Eric's floor was the lowest one in the top portion of the tower, which meant that it had less surface area than those below it. But, of course, his floor was still plenty big!

From what Sookie could tell from the outside of the building, there was a terrace formed in each place where the building tapered; Sookie couldn't help but to be happy that Eric's was one of the floors that included such a terrace.

Continuing her exploration around to the corner, which was shaped to create a more private area, she saw a uniquely-designed lounge chair built for two—one side facing the Hudson and the other facing the city. Actually, the chair looked more like a piece of art rather than a piece of furniture. Thinking that it would be uncomfortable, Sookie carefully sat on the side facing the river. Surprisingly, the chair's shape allowed her body to curve into it easily, and a smile curved onto her lips when she thought about perhaps lying out and working on her tan, which had all but gone away in New York. Yes—she thought to herself—with a blanket spread out over it, the chair would be perfect for lounging in the sun. She quickly added suntan lotion to the list of things she needed to get. She had a swimming suit already, but it was still at Amelia's. Meanwhile, she could sit out in shorts and a tank top.

She stood up and ran her fingers over the metal of the chair, which still held some of the warmth from the day. It was a beautiful piece, as were most of the other pieces of furniture in the home. In fact, other than the "gray side" of the house, all of the furnishings she'd seen had been either extremely comfortable or unique in some way—special. She smiled as she thought about how all those adjectives could be applied to Eric too.

Walking around the corner, Sookie found the seating area where she and Eric had had their conversation the night before. She noticed a telescope and then admired the rounded, covered chair that she could imagine Eric and her snuggling in. With a little skip to her step, she made a beeline for the swing that she'd wanted to sit in ever since the night before.

The swing wasn't like any porch swing she'd ever seen in the South. It was wicker and almost egg-shaped, and there was a weatherproof cushion inside of it. The swing was held up by a chain, which connected to a piece of metal that curved downward until it joined with its base, which was another piece of metal—shaped like a C. Sookie had a seat and enjoyed the sweet comfort of the gentle swinging until her stomach decided to gurgle again. She chuckled and walked over to the door that led into the "gray side" of the house. She found it locked, but there was a key pad next to it. Smiling, she entered the code Eric had taught her: "poptart."

Eric had grinned as he'd told her the story of how he'd come up with the security code. The first day Eric had met Henry, the chief of security had been enthusiastically eating a whole box of Pop Tarts. Eric had not been expected that day, and he'd found Henry overseeing the security measures for his home. As if caught doing something clandestine, Henry had immediately made Eric swear that he wouldn't tell anyone that he'd been eating the Pop Tarts.

After a few awkward moments, the chief of security had told Eric that he'd asked a friend from the construction crew to "smuggle" in the treats since his fiancé, Blake, and his security team made fun of his love for them.

Henry had been flabbergasted when Eric told him that he'd never had a Pop Tart. The chief of security had immediately insisted that he try one. Henry and Eric had sat on the concrete floor of the terrace and had shared their first "real" conversation over the treat. Henry had told Eric that Pop Tarts were coveted in his unit when it was deployed. He'd also admitted that Blake was something of a health nut and would always lecture Henry about the "artificiality" of the product. Thus, Henry ate them only in secret; he'd laughingly called them his mistress.

Right after their conversation—when Eric had needed to come up with a seven-digit code for the alpha-numeric keypad—"poptart" had seemed like the obvious choice. And—ever since then—Pop Tarts had always been on Eric's shopping list. Apparently, Henry had permission to sneak into Eric's house every now and then to enjoy one of the treats. Sookie chuckled as she stepped through the now-unlocked door.

Her smile fell away as she was once again struck by the "gray." She shook her head a little. While she could appreciate Pam's decorating skills, the "gray side" of the house literally seemed chilly. Sookie could certainly see how it was appropriate for the kinds of business-related cocktail parties that Eric had described needing to host earlier. However, she was intimidated by the area. And she couldn't help but to notice that Eric seemed to dislike the space as well.

Entering the kitchen from the dining area, Sookie's face brightened. Though its size overwhelmed her a little, she liked the kitchen immensely. She took a moment to gaze out of the north-facing windows, enjoying the view of Riverside Park. The trees in the park were lush and looked deep green and mysterious in the darkness. She could see lights winding around the park; they were likely flanking walking and running trails, but from her viewpoint, they looked like fairy lights creating a swirling and almost-otherworldly design.

Sookie washed her hands before dragging her finger lightly along the smooth marble countertops. She shook her head at the sheer scale of the kitchen space. The middle of the large room was dominated by an enormous island that had two comfortable-looking bar stools on one side. She figured that many of Eric and her meals would be had there.

On the opposite side of the room from the windows, there were several ovens and two ranges. One of the ranges looked "normal," while the other looked half like a regular grill and half like a smaller version of the smooth hibachi grill she'd seen in the Japanese restaurant she and Eric had eaten at. She opened the very large refrigerator and wasn't surprised to find that it looked only sparsely filled—despite the fact that it actually contained quite a bit of food.

After doing a quick inventory of the refrigerator's contents, she pulled out ingredients to make sandwiches, but chuckled when it took her a while to find the bread, which turned out to be in one of the drawers around the island.

She also took a few minutes to familiarize herself with the contents of the two hutches that framed the entrance from the dining room; they contained mostly dishes and linens that seemed a little too fancy for everyday use. However, in the cabinets on the other side of the room, Sookie struck pay-dirt, finding dishes and silverware that looked "normal"—for lack of a better term. She also found new-looking pots and pans of any size she might ever need in the cabinets next to the refrigerator. She chuckled as she saw that there was a television in the kitchen, but then shrugged, knowing that it would actually be nice to have something to keep her occupied if she were making a time-consuming meal.

She turned to the simple meal she was putting together and had the sandwiches constructed and the kitchen tidied within a few minutes. Deciding to have a beer with her food and figuring that Eric wouldn't object to the same, she grabbed two Newcastles out of the refrigerator. Luckily, she'd seen where Eric kept the bottle opener the night before, or she'd have needed to go on another odyssey for it.

Sookie decided to take Eric his meal first and then return for hers since she couldn't figure out how to maneuver two bottles and two plates in only two hands; plus, she'd already decided that she was going to eat her own meal outside where she could enjoy the evening breeze. She only wished that Eric could join her.

As she wound her way back to the sitting room off of the master bedroom, she was once again struck by the fact that Eric's home was like a maze, but knowing him as she'd begun to, she understood why he would need the entrances to the part of his home that he truly loved to be more private and difficult to get into. He wouldn't want anyone he didn't trust in those spaces.

She entered Eric's office quietly through the sitting room. She couldn't help but to be struck by the sight. The backdrop to the beautiful man in front of her was another gorgeous view of the city. Being in the corner of the building, the office had large blocks of windows on two sides. Eric's back was to her, and he seemed lost in his work as he typed away on his keyboard.

Eric's desk itself was quite simple and situated so that he could look outside. There was also a sleek, though comfortable-looking, black leather couch in the room. Other than that, there were two very large, packed bookcases, one along the wall shared with the sitting room and another along the other interior wall. The walls and the floors were white, so the only colors in the room were black, white, and the medium brown of the furniture. Still Sookie liked the space right away. Its simple practicality seemed to suit Eric's professional side.

"Hey," he said, looking over his shoulder.

"Hey yourself," she smiled as she walked over to him. "I like your office."

Eric grinned. "I decorated most of this side of the house, including this room. Pam was thinking dark wood paneling and a big mahogany desk, but that seemed too stuffy. Plus, her way would have actually covered up some of the windows," he cringed a little.

Sookie smiled. "That would have been a shame. I really like the view."

"Me too," he said, staring at her intensely.

Suddenly, she felt like she was the dinner, so she held out his food. "I—uh—thought you might like a beer too," she stammered as her cheeks glowed.

His leer immediately transformed into a grateful smile. "Thanks. I need one."

"That bad?" she asked as he put his meal down on his desk.

"Unfortunately," he sighed, patting his lap.

She sat down with a sigh of her own and curled into him as he held her silently for a few minutes.

"God—I'm glad that you're here, Sookie. I'm grateful that you brought me dinner when I probably would have forgotten to eat tonight. But most of all, I'm grateful that your presence makes me feel like I can deal with—" he paused in the middle of his sentence, "with anything."

She smiled down at him from her perch on his lap and then kissed him lightly, before resting her forehead against his. "You'd better get back to work, Northman," she said a little playfully after a few more minutes. "I'll check back in later?"

"Please," he said, kissing her again and then letting her up. "And thanks."

She smiled softly at him before returning to the kitchen. While there, she poked her head through a door at the back corner of the room and found a long, narrow utility room. In addition to having a top-of-the-line washer and dryer, the room housed cleaning supplies, as well as kitchen items like a large mixer and a food processor. There was a door at one side of the room, and Sookie was surprised to see that it led to the foyer area, where she'd not seen a door before.

"Cool," she said to herself as she closed the door behind her and saw that it virtually disappeared into the wall of the foyer, which was just to the side of the elevator. Unfortunately, she couldn't figure out how to get back through since there was no knob. She chuckled and made a mental note to ask Eric how to do open the "secret passage" later before winding her way back to the kitchen by way of the gray part of the house.

As she went, she thought of the man who was working away in his office. She couldn't help but to marvel at the fact that he'd found the "secret passage" to her heart—a pathway she'd never even known existed before he'd traversed it.


	40. Join the Dance

Chapter 40: Join the Dance

The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.—Alan Watts

Sookie took her time with her meal, enjoying the June night on Eric's terrace. She'd decided to eat at the little blue table so that she could enjoy the city view; however, when she saw that it was 8:45, she got up and collected her plate and empty beer bottle, knowing that Eric's conference call was due to begin soon and wanting to see if he needed anything and to wish him luck before it did.

She was surprised when he wasn't in his office. His laptop was also gone, as were his used dishes. The mystery of his location was solved, however, when she passed through the gray area on her way to put her own dirty plate into the dishwasher.

"Hey," he said from the end of the room where the large desk was.

"Hey yourself," she replied, though her eyebrow rose in question.

"The video conferencing equipment is set up in here," he reminded, gesturing toward the large computer monitor on the desk.

She nodded. "You look nice," she smiled as she took in his dark blue suit.

He smiled back. "It always feels weird when I put on one of these so late at night, but they definitely expect it."

Sookie nodded as he came out from behind his desk to give her a kiss.

"Bare feet?" she asked.

He chuckled. "They can't see that part." He winked. "I'd do it in my boxers if I wasn't worried about the angle of the camera."

She giggled. "That would be a sight."

"Later," he said flirtingly as he gave her another peck. "How was your exploring?"

She shrugged. "I've still not gotten to most of the house, but I love the terrace and the hot tub!"

"Good," he said waggling his eyebrows, "because I have plans for you, me, and that hot tub once my schedule normalizes so that I have a free evening."

"Oh, you do—do you?" she asked, biting her lip.

He nodded and leaned down. "Yes," he whispered, his lips slightly grazing her earlobe, "very detailed plans."

She moaned as he gave her lingering kisses along her jawline and down her neck.

His fingers gently moved over her bare arms, causing the goose bumps that his kisses had already elicited to double in size and number. They both sighed as their lips met.

He groaned as he pulled away about a minute later. "I'd better finish setting things up for my call."

"Need any help?"

He shook his head. "After it's over, I'll come find you, but in case it goes longer than an hour—which it might because of some of the changes Appius wanted me to make—you should feel free to go to bed whenever you want." He sighed. "Or just enjoy whatever you like in the house."

Sookie nodded and smiled before placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. After taking her plate to the kitchen and putting it into the dishwasher, which wasn't nearly full enough to run, she decided to grab another beer to take with her on her tour of the rest of the house. She also decided—once she heard Eric's voice coming from the other room—that she'd sneak through the "secret passage" from the utility room to the foyer so as not to interrupt him. She chuckled when she remembered that one of the games he'd ordered was Clue; though she knew little about the mystery game, she was aware that it included secret passages. She remembered 'hearing' about them in commercials when she was a child.

Once back in the foyer, Sookie took a moment to appreciate the Turner painting again. When she turned away from it, the elevator was directly to her left and the hall leading toward Eric's master bedroom suite was to her right, so she went beyond the elevator and to her left. The short hallway there led to three doors. The first one—she knew—would take her to the guest bathroom she'd used the night before. Having seen that room already, she opened the second door and found a small home gym. There were free weights of a variety of sizes and a punching bag in the corner of the room. There was also a treadmill, and a television was mounted in the corner so that anyone using the machine would be able to easily see the screen.

Sookie smiled a little. Since moving to New York, she'd definitely been getting a lot of exercise from walking; however, she was happy to see the little exercise room there. Now that she was getting older, she'd been wanting to learn how to properly use weights in order to tone her arms so that she didn't end up with the kind of underarm flab that Southern women called "bingo wings." Plus, the idea of watching Eric punching his bag caused her to break out into a cold sweat. She fanned herself, giggling that that action alone could be a good anti-bingo wing exercise.

Still smiling at the thought, she took a quick drink of her beer before exiting the room and proceeding to the door at the end of the hall, where she found a guest bedroom. Not surprisingly, the most striking feature of the room was a wall composed almost entirely of windows. Sookie ventured forward and once again enjoyed the view of Riverside Park. She looked around. The room itself was decorated in shades of brown, ranging from chocolate to tan. The only pop of color was a touch of orange, found in some accent pillows in the room. There were only three pieces of furniture: a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a long couch unit that took up the entire wall next to the windows. Clearly, the couch had been designed for the room.

Sookie opened the door on the left-hand side of the bedroom and found a narrow, though long, room. At one end was a closet with built-in shelving units. The closet was empty except for a couple of folded quilts and several packages of unused hangers. Sookie made a mental note to ask Eric if she could use them when she moved the rest of her things in.

It was the other end of the room that caught Sookie's attention, however. A large built-in bathtub was adjacent to the window in the room, and Sookie could see that any bathers would have a lovely view.

Leaving the guestroom, Sookie made her way back to the foyer. There was one other hall; it led to the east side of the house, which Eric had told her was his main living area. In that hall, Sookie noticed two photographs of landscapes and wondered if Pam had taken those too. Though not black and white, they looked like they could have been pictures from Sweden, and Sookie couldn't help but to notice that Eric seemed to love that country, probably because he had always felt loved by his mormor and morfar there—or maybe just because he was so far away from his father when he was there. Sookie sighed. She had to admit that moving first to Mississippi and then to New York had been like medicine to her. Just being further away from her mother geographically had helped her immeasurably.

Sookie was met at the end of the hall by interior French doors with frosted glass. She could tell that the doors could be locked, and she was sure that this was so that Eric could maintain his privacy in this part of his home. Filled with curiosity, she opened the doors and entered the long room. Just like the "gray side," the room was a continuous space broken up by various functional areas. However, unlike the "gray side," the east side of the house looked warm and lived in. There were many large windows, and like its opposing side, there was not much variety of color; however, the scheme seemed harmonious as opposed to "chilly." It was decorated in lighter browns and creams and blues, which Sookie was beginning to recognize as Eric's preferred color palette when it came to the spaces he wanted to relax in.

She immediately felt comfortable there.

She left one of the French doors open as she ventured inside to better explore the space. First—to get her bearings—she walked to the far south side of the room and opened the door she found there in order to confirm that it led into Eric's office. When she found that it did, she closed that door and then looked around the area she was in. The main piece of furniture was a pool table, constructed in a modern design. She decided to ask Eric to teach her the game—if only so that his body would have to be in close proximity to hers in order for him to do so. There was also a large television mounted on the long interior wall and a comfortable-looking, chic blue couch along the wall that was shared with the office.

Sookie walked into the middle portion of the long room, which was a sitting area; from the selection of magazines on the table between the two light blue chairs that made up the main part of the area, Sookie guessed that Pam frequented that particular spot. There was also a long window seat, and Sookie immediately knew where she'd be spending a lot of her time in the house.

On impulse, she quickly left the room and retrieved her laptop case, which was still on one of the chairs in the foyer. Upon return, she decided that the table between the blue chairs in the little sitting area would be the perfect spot to put her computer when she was at Eric's—at their—home.

She smiled and took in the rest of the room.

Next to the sitting area was what Sookie would call a living room area; there were several newspapers on the coffee table there. They were the closest thing Sookie had come to finding anything "messy" in the home. Again, the furniture was very nice—and most likely very expensive—but it looked lived upon, the slightly askew cushions showing evidence of indentation. Being in the corner of the house, the living room was flanked on two sides by windows, but what really attracted Sookie's attention was the piano between the living room and the sitting area.

Having been deaf for much of her life, Sookie had always thought that the majestic-looking instrument was exotic and somehow beyond her reach. There had been a piano in the church Sookie had been forced to attend with her mother. There had been a piano in the music room at her grade school, but—as could well be imagined—music class had been Sookie's least favorite part of the school day, especially during the years when few people were aware of just how profound her hearing loss had become.

After her hearing had been restored, Sookie had listened to any kind of music she could, though she soon settled upon classical as her favorite genre. She enjoyed the whispering, vibrating notes of stringed instruments the most—from the somber tones of the cello to the smooth sounds of the piano. However, she'd always kept her distance from the instruments themselves, for some reason afraid to touch them.

Eric's piano, a baby grand, was nicer than any that she'd ever seen before, and like the man who owned it, the piano was hypnotizing in a way. She reached out and tentatively pressed down a note. To even her unschooled ears, the pitch sounded perfect, and the note reverberated around the room since the floors were wood. Sookie saw that Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" was on the music rack. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured Eric playing the haunting, melancholy tune, his long and graceful fingers moving methodically over the piano keys.

Beethoven's music playing in her head, she turned her attention toward the door on the interior wall of the living room. She was a little confused since her spatial intelligence told her that the guestroom would be on the other side, yet she'd not seen a door in there that would lead to the living room. She chuckled as she realized that it was yet another "secret passage." The door on the guestroom side was barely perceptible, and—as before—once she let the door close, she was "trapped" and had to wind her way back to where she'd been.

Back in what she was now thinking of as the "warm side" of the house, Sookie made her way to the only door she'd not yet opened. It was along the interior wall of the sitting room, near the French doors. Sookie gasped as she opened the door. Dominating the room was a huge, white bathtub, facing a big screen television and a fireplace. Everything in the room was black and white.

"I see you found what Pam calls the man cave," came Eric's voice from behind her.

Sookie was surprised to find that she'd not been startled by his voice—not at all.

"Man cave—huh?" she asked, taking in the shelves of movies and stereo equipment on one of the walls.

He chuckled. "Pam didn't have a hand in designing this room either."

"I'm starting to get the impression that you like to take baths," Sookie quipped, thinking about all the tubs she'd seen in the house, as well as the hot tub outside.

He chuckled even louder. "I do. Come," he said, pulling her hand. "Let me show you something else I like."

She bit her lip; from the look in his eyes, the "something else" was going to involve them both being naked—not that she was complaining. He led her to a room just off of the "man cave."

"A sauna?" Sookie asked in surprise.

"Yep," Eric said. "Because of safety regulations and building codes, it can't get as warm in here as in the one at my mormor's home in Sweden, but it's not bad."

She smiled and looked up at him. "I like the house—this side especially."

He smiled back.

"I especially like the secret passageways."

He chuckled. "Did you find both of them?"

She nodded. "Yeah—how did you end up with them?"

"Well—as you said last night, rich people are odd. The one from the foyer to the utility room is likely concealed for aesthetic reasons. As for the one between the living room and the guestroom? I have no idea why that one's there," he chuckled.

"So—how was your call?" Immediately, Eric's face clouded a little, and Sookie almost regretted asking.

He sighed. "They were a little reticent about accepting some of the changes my father wanted."

"What changes?"

"Our profit margins versus theirs," Eric said with another sigh—this one a little louder and a little longer. "But I already had a compromise drafted, which will benefit Guangzhou Press more in the long run. That's what I was working on when you brought me my dinner; thanks again for doing that—by the way."

She looked up at him. "You're welcome. So—they agreed to the compromise?"

Eric nodded. "Yes. Appius won't like it. But in the short term it will benefit us more than them, so he'll accept it," he smiled ruefully. "I'll just have to accept a bit of haranguing from him in the meantime."

Sookie nodded sadly. "Do you need to go back to work now?"

He shook his head. "No—not for another three hours or so; that's when the next call is scheduled. Since I had the compromise ready and they went for it, I don't need to make any adjustments, so I'll just have to wait around for the people I just spoke with to confer with their superiors. Hopefully, the deal can go into the final stages after the next call. Tomorrow morning, I'll fax everything over to our lawyers to finalize, and then I'll review the finished contract myself before emailing it to China tomorrow evening. Then, there will be another round of conference calls tomorrow night in order to make any last-minute changes to the contract. And, hopefully, we'll sign on Wednesday night."

"That's good—right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he responded, running his hand through his hair. "If Appius doesn't interfere again, it'll be really good."

"Will he?" she asked.

Eric considered for a moment. "I don't think so. He's seen the numbers, and he'll let me do my job now—I think."

"Good."

"What's better is that now I have some time to kill. Can you think of any way to help me do that, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked, a playful light immediately replacing the stress that had just been in his eyes.

"Hmmm," she answered coyly, "I can't think of anything. Do you have any ideas, Mr. Northman?"

He just nodded and led her out of the sauna room. He let go of her hand, walked over to the tub, and turned on the water before dumping in some bath salts.

He turned to Sookie and loosened his tie. Mesmerized by this movements, she watched him pull the strip of silk over his head before dropping it to the floor in front of him. Her eyes followed it and then raked up his tall, lean body, only to find him slowly taking off his jacket. His movements as graceful as a lion's, he carefully draped the garment over the back of a white leather couch, which was along the wall of the room next to the entrance to the sauna. His eyes didn't leave hers as he methodically unbuttoned and removed his light blue dress shirt before placing it over the jacket. In only his dress pants now, Eric moved back over to the tub and tested the water's temperature.

His back turned to her, he took off his pants before placing them on the towel rack right next to the tub. Then he turned back to face her.

"Would you care to take a bath with me?" he asked seductively as he slid his boxer-briefs over his slim hips.

His question—and his perfect naked body—spurred Sookie into immediate action. She put down her still half-full beer bottle on a table next to the couch and then pulled her T-shirt over her head, hearing Eric's sharp intake of breath when he saw that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Eric watched her with almost glowing eyes as she finished stripping, but neither of them said a word as Eric reached over to turn off the water and then climbed into the tub. Sookie was not far behind him; she settled in front of him with her back to his chest.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered into her ear as their bodies sank into one another's.

"So are you," she returned.

"So you really like the house?" he asked, his voice suddenly awash in uncertainty. "We can change anything you want."

"I really like it," she said, "except for the gray part. I don't like that part, but that can't be helped—right?"

He nodded. "Right. And the rest? Could you see yourself here? With me?"

"Yes," she said with certainty. "But there is something I wanted to ask you."

"Anything," he said.

"The extra hangers in the spare bedroom—can I use those while I'm here?"

He laughed heartily. "I think that can be arranged. Or just add more to Thalia's list."

"I don't want you to buy stuff like that on my account," she sighed as she turned to face him a little. "And I want to contribute some money—at least to the monthly bills and food budget."

"You don't need to do that," he said.

"I know. It's just that I moved to New York to be independent—really and truly independent."

"I understand," Eric said after a moment. "Thalia leaves the receipts each week, and I do the bills once a month. We can figure out how to split things from there."

"All right," she said, sinking into him more.

"But you will still be paying half rent at Amelia's," he said somewhat cautiously, "and I don't want your monthly expenditures to rise because you're with me. Promise me you won't get yourself into a bind financially—just to be with me?" he questioned.

"I promise," she said.

"Okay," he responded, more relaxed now.

"I didn't know you played the piano," she commented as they began to play with each other's fingers under the water.

"At boarding school, learning an instrument was required."

"Why did you choose the piano?"

Eric didn't answer.

"You don't have to tell me," Sookie said after a while.

"My mother played," he said at a low volume. "When my grandparents still had a big house in Stockholm, the piano she learned on was there."

"Did you ever get to play it?" Sookie asked in almost a whisper.

She felt Eric's body sway a little, and she didn't need to look to know that he'd shaken his head to indicate he hadn't.

"The only reason Appius let me learn to play was because the headmaster lied in the yearly reports he sent to my father."

"Lied?"

Sookie felt Eric nod.

"Appius always tried to block me from doing things that I liked," he said in a faraway voice. "If one of my headmaster's reports said that I was excelling in something or that I enjoyed it, my father would tell him that he wanted me to change activities. Appius claimed it was to make me 'well-rounded.'"

"But it was really to stop you from doing things you liked," Sookie sighed.

He nodded. "Godric figured it out during my fifth year of school though."

"He was your headmaster at Murray Academy? Bobby's father—right?" she asked, checking to make sure that she remembered correctly. Eric had told her a little about Godric Burnham earlier in the week. She intuited that he had been very important to Eric, but he hadn't told her much about him.

"Yeah," Eric confirmed. "I went to Murray for nine years and then to Exeter for four. The headmistress there was named Dorothy Ripley. Luckily, Godric and she were friends, so she would lie in the reports too.

"So they would lie and say that you didn't enjoy playing the piano?" she asked.

He sighed and tightened his hold on her. "Yes. That—and other things."

"I'm glad."

"Me too," he responded. "I've always liked playing. It's relaxing, and I could practice alone when other people were . . . ." His voice trailed off and he sighed. "Over the years, I got really good. Of course—the headmasters' reports always claimed that I was not very proficient," he added quietly.

"Would you play for me sometime?" she requested in a similarly hushed tone.

"Yes," Eric said as he kissed her shoulder affectionately. "I practice several times a week—at least most weeks."

"And you wouldn't mind if I listened to you?" she asked.

"No—I would like for you to. It's," he paused, "emotional for me to play, so I don't generally play for others, but I'd like for you to be there."

"You don't play for Pam? Or for your mormor?"

"Not really. I'll play little things—holiday songs and stuff like that. I don't play pieces that I really feel. He was silent for a moment. "Does that make any sense?"

"It makes sense," she assured. "But you would play the 'feeling kind' for me?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I want to do everything with you, Sookie."

The emotion in his voice compelled her to turn fully around in his arms to face him. They looked at each other silently for a few minutes, knowing that their whole lives up until then had been spent looking for each other.

"Eric," she asked almost inaudibly—huskily, "is there a condom in this room?"

He reached over the side of the bathtub and took one out of the pocket of his trousers that he'd placed conveniently close.

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, "with you in this house, I thought I should carry one with me at all times."

Her smile was an amalgamation of shyness and boldness. "I want you," she said simply. "I always want you."

His face softened at her words. "Good."

They leaned inward and met in a kiss that felt to them both as if they'd been practicing for decades. As their lips moved in concert, nothing was awkward. There were no bumped noses as their mouths and then tongues melded. There was no uncertainty or hesitation, as they somehow knew exactly what would bring the other pleasure.

Shortly after their mouths began their dance, the rest of their bodies joined in—grinding and pressing themselves together. Before long, they were using their hands to rub each other's sexes. And not long after that, he was tearing open the condom.

"I've never put one of these on while I was submerged in water before," he groaned impatiently as she kissed and then bit his nipple.

"It'll work though—right?" Sookie asked.

"Yes," Eric said as he leaned up out of the water and finally got the condom on. He settled back into the tub and pulled her body to straddle him once more.

However, instead of immediately sinking onto his erection, Sookie cradled his face with her hands and looked at him with a look he'd never seen in anyone before. It took his breath away.

"Eric, there's something you need to know."

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.

"I love you," she said.

"Sookie, I," he stopped speaking abruptly and a look of intense fear entered his eyes.

"You love me too," she said with certainty. "But if you say it, you think it'll make me go away."

"Yes," he said, tears immediately brimming his eyes. His voice was tortured. "If I say it, he'll find out and take you from me."

"That's why you don't have to say it," Sookie whispered as she raised herself and lined Eric up with her entrance. "I wanted to tell you that I already know that you love me. And I wanted to tell you that I feel the same way."

"But you deserve to hear it," he said as she lowered herself onto him. They both groaned as he became fully sheathed inside of her.

"I deserve to feel it more than hear it," she said. "And you'll tell me one day," she said, "before we say goodbye."

"I promise," he vowed, as he raised his hips to meet her own downward movements.

A few tears falling down his cheeks now, he spoke to her in Swedish, trying to say everything that was in his heart, except for the three little words that scared him more than anything else. Even in another language—one that Appius didn't understand—he was afraid of them. "Jag är glad att du kan känna min kärlek, min vackra sön. Du kommer att ha det tills den dagen jag dör. Jag svär," he whispered, looking at her intently. [I'm glad you can feel my love, my beautiful sun. You will have it until the day I die. I swear.]

She leaned forward to kiss him—to kiss the words that she had felt to her very soul. She didn't need to ask him what those words meant. She didn't need him to speak in English. All she needed was the man in her arms, and she endeavored to show him just that as her lips moved hotly against his.

They made love slowly—unhurriedly. She moved and he moved, and the water moved around them, rolling around the tub in waves.

"Sookie," he gasped. "You feel so good. You feel so right."

"You too," she agreed with a moan as they continued to move with each other: thrusting and withdrawing, ebbing and flowing.

"Eric," she sighed against his mouth, just as her walls began to contract around his shaft. He thrust a few more times and then came with a sigh of his own.

They stared at each other for a few moments, lost in their love and trying not to get lost in the inevitability of the loss of that love. She laid her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

Neither of them minded the fact that the water had gone cold.


	41. I Struggle to Swim, Part 1

Chapter 41: I Struggle to Swim, Part 1

We should feel sorrow, but not sink under its oppression.—Confucius

"Have you ever been in a sauna?" Eric asked after a while—when he noticed that both his and Sookie's skin had begun to pucker.

She shook her head and raised herself up from his chest. She was glad to see that his tears were gone; in fact, his eyes held only affection and curiosity.

"Is this a Scandinavian thing? Having sex in a tub and then getting into a sauna?" she asked playfully as he rose.

"Yes. Absolutely," he chuckled as he stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his narrow waist, not even bothering to dry off. He then helped her out of the tub and wrapped another towel around her, before pulling up the tub's drain and then leading her across the black tile floor to the sauna.

Immediately after Eric "turned on the room," Sookie began to appreciate it. She especially appreciated the view since he left his towel hanging by the door. She wasn't quite "Scandinavian" enough to do that yet, however.

"I like this," she smiled as she and Eric settled in next to each other.

He grinned back at her. "Good. I try to come in here a few times a week."

"Another Scandinavian thing?"

"Yep," he responded. "Pam uses it every once in a while too, and my mormor is in hers at least once a day." He sighed as his smile faded. "According to her, my mother was the same way. Mormor once told me that my father had a sauna put in for my mother in every house they ever lived in." He continued in a quieter tone. "Of course, that kind of gesture from Appius seems unimaginable to me."

"Eric?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Why do you sometimes call your father, "Father," and sometimes call him, "Appius?"

"It's a long, complicated story," he sighed.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she responded quickly.

"I do want to tell you," he sighed. "I want to tell you—everything. "It's just that I," he paused, "didn't think I'd ever be able to tell anyone. Bobby knows some things—because he was there when they happened—and Mormor now knows a little. But—no one knows the whole story," he said, his voice almost inaudible by the end of his sentence.

"You don't have to tell me," she repeated.

"I want to," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Then you don't have to tell me now.  
"I need to," he said, his voice vibrating with emotion.

"Okay," she replied.

"You already know enough about my relationship with my father—with Appius—to know that it's," he paused, "difficult."

Sookie nodded and took his hand comfortingly.

Eric squeezed her hand in thanks. "When I began to work at Northman Publishing, I was twenty-five; I started a week after I graduated from business school. It was then that I broached the idea of calling my father 'Appius'—at least in work situations." He chuckled glumly. "I mustered my courage, went to his office, and raised the issue with him. I had practiced a whole speech." He paused and raked his free hand through his hair. "I explained to him that I wanted to be known as my own man at the company—not just as Appius Northman's son." Eric shook his head and continued, "I figured my father wouldn't have a problem with me calling him 'Appius'—or even 'Mr. Northman.' You see—he'd never introduced me as his son before. When I was growing up—on the rare occasions that I was around to be introduced to anyone—he'd say things like, 'This is my son Alexei and these are my daughters Pam and Nora. And this is Eric.'"

Sookie found herself rubbing her thumb against Eric's palm in a comforting motion.

He stopped talking for a moment, looking as if he didn't know what to say next. "I should go backwards in the story—to when I was a kid," he mused.

"Okay," Sookie responded.

He took a breath. "As you know, from the time I was five until I was eighteen, I spent only winter breaks at my father's house. Most of the other kids would be gone from the school during Thanksgiving and Spring Break—but Appius always negotiated with Headmaster Burnham so that I could stay at Murray Academy during those times."

"Godric," Sookie said.

"Yeah," he responded. "Godric was the closest thing I ever had to a father." He sighed, again running his hand through his hair. "There were always a few kids from Europe that didn't go home for the short breaks either, so I wasn't totally alone then, but—truth be told—they didn't much mix with me. No one did." He was quiet for a few moments.

"Except for Bobby. He visited his dad at the school during those holidays," Sookie said, remembering something Eric had told her earlier in the week.

Eric nodded. "Bobby's five years older than I am, but he didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that I was younger. And I got to have a Thanksgiving meal every year—with him and Godric. And we always went to the beach at least once during spring break. It was," he paused, "nice." He sighed. "But neither of the boarding schools I attended allowed students to stay over the winter break—so I had to go to Appius's home for three weeks each year."

He closed his eyes—as if his memories brought him pain. "And every year—until I was eighteen—my winter break would include two meetings with my father, one right after I got to his house and one right before I left. My siblings—I eventually learned—didn't have such meetings."

"What were the meetings like?" Sookie asked quietly—almost afraid to hear his response.

"They were all conducted in Appius's office," Eric responded as if on autopilot. "I was to sit and be silent while Appius read the report that I was required to bring him from the headmaster. I realized after a few years that no other kids received such a report, but Appius demanded one from Godric—and then later from the headmistress at Exeter. After reading, Appius would spend about an hour writing his response. After he was done, he'd read me what he'd written.

"What did he write, Eric?" Sookie asked, her voice shaking and her eyes already filling with tears as she anticipated his answer.

"A list—of the various ways I was a disappointment to him and the family that year," he said quietly. "After he read it, he would tell me that I needed to do better—be better—so that he wouldn't have to be so ashamed to have such a disappointing son."

"Oh Eric," she said as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Those meetings would always end with him saying that while I was in the Northman home, it would be best if I stayed out of his sight whenever possible so that he wouldn't have to be reminded of my failures. After that first meeting every year, I would be lucky if he said two words to me before the second one."

"And what would happen at the second meeting?" Sookie asked, her voice almost as haunted as his.

"I would be given a file to pass back to the headmaster. It would include the activities that my father deemed worthy of my time. Like I told you earlier, if I liked doing a certain activity, I would be stopped from doing it. The same thing held true if I became too good at something. For instance, Murray Academy required all the kids to play a team sport beginning in second grade. I began with field hockey and loved it," Eric smiled a little at the memory. "I was also very good at it. Unfortunately, at that time, Godric hadn't yet figured out that he needed to hide that information, so I was forced to quit the team. Appius then required that I be put on the swimming team, and I liked that too, but I didn't show it. However, Godric's report proclaimed that I was a very good swimmer—a natural—and after that, I was switched to the polo team. By the next year, Godric had caught on, and he began to lie in his reports, downplaying the fact that I had become an excellent rider and polo player."

Looking even more troubled than before, Eric went on, "That year, Godric didn't seal his report well, and I read it during the ride to Appius's house. I was in fourth grade. I was," Eric stopped midsentence and leaned against Sookie a little, as if gathering the strength to keep speaking. "Since Appius was always so critical of me, I had started to worry about what Godric was writing in the reports. I was so afraid that Godric," Eric paused, "hated me too—just like my father did."

Despite the heat in the room, Eric was shaking a little.

"But Godric didn't hate you," Sookie said. "He was trying to protect you."

Eric nodded. "At the time, I didn't know that though. When I read the letter, I was," he paused, his voice catching, "confused about what it said. And—in the three weeks I was at Appius's house that year—I became certain that Godric loathed me too."

"Because he had lied about you?"

"Yes. In the report, Godric said that I was 'incompetent' at polo and didn't enjoy it because I was not comfortable around horses. He said that I'd almost drowned during a physical fitness test and had become fearful of the water." He sighed. "There were other things in the report too. According to Godric, I was getting bullied by the people on the debate team. Always before, he'd included who I was friends with in the reports, but—starting that year—he claimed that I didn't have friends. And I didn't by then—not really. He also said that I wasn't doing very well academically." Eric shook his head and winced a little. "Godric claimed to be personally disappointed in my lack of progress."

"Oh God," Sookie muttered. "And you thought he was telling the truth."

Eric nodded. "Yeah." He closed his eyes. "And even when I learned that he had been lying, I still couldn't shake the words I'd read—at least not fully."

Sookie held him close and let out a shaky breath. "What happened when Appius read that report?"

Eric's slight trembling continued. "I was scared of what Appius would say—so scared—but my meetings with him weren't as bad that year."

"Because he was happy that you weren't doing well."

He nodded. "After that winter break, Godric called me into his office." Eric closed his eyes even tighter at the memory. "I thought he was going to berate me like my father."

"Because the letter had said that he was disappointed in you," Sookie said quietly.

"Yes. But Godric didn't yell at me. Instead, he showed me the letter of instructions that my father had sent him. In it, Appius suggested that I stay on the polo team and be put on the swimming team so that I could 'overcome my fears and build character.' Appius also suggested that I join the debate team in order to 'learn to stand up for myself.'"

"So every negative discussed by Godric," Sookie stated, "was capitalized upon by Appius."

"Yes. That's when Godric told me that he'd lied in his report to my father. He asked me if there had been negatives that arose from those lies. When I told him 'no,' he asked me my permission to continue sending bogus reports." Eric let out a long exhalation. I never told Godric that I saw his report. I never told him that I'd been afraid that he, too, despised me."

"And even though he'd explained the report, the words still hurt you," Sookie said perceptively.

"I tried not to let them," Eric said almost desperately. "I mean—rationally, I knew that it was because of Godric that I got to do many things I wanted to do, though I still had to be careful not to stand out too much. And—after that—I tried to trust Godric and Bobby more. But I was always worried."

"You were afraid that you were a burden to them," she whispered.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"I was always afraid that I was a burden to Gran too."

"But she was your family," Eric said.

"And Bobby and Godric were yours," she commented in a low voice.

He pulled back a little to look at her. "You're right. They were. It's just," he stopped midsentence.

"Hard to trust," she finished.

Eric nodded. "When I had to move to Exeter after the eighth grade, Godric met with Headmistress Ripley. After they talked, she went along with his idea to falsify the reports. She also never told Appius that Godric and Bobby would come to Exeter and collect me for Thanksgivings and spring breaks after I moved there." He closed his eyes again. "But they always did come."

Eric continued in a strained voice, "I wasn't allowed friends at school, which was why Bobby became so important to me. My father always wanted to know who my friends were, and—at first—Godric had no reason not to tell him in the reports. In the first few years I was at school, I actually made several friends. But I would always lose those friends after the winter vacation. For a while, I didn't understand why—not until I was seven years old and my friend Ryan told me that his father said that he couldn't be friends with me anymore or he'd lose his allowance."

Sookie roped her arms around Eric comfortingly.

He sighed at the gesture. "I'll never know how my father was able to do it, but he managed to ensure that anyone I became friends with discontinued their interactions with me. After Ryan told me why he couldn't be my friend anymore, I simply stopped letting myself get close to anyone."

"But Bobby was safe," Sookie observed.

Eric started trembling again—his body almost vibrating. "I wanted to hope so. I didn't pray very often, though my mormor and morfar always prayed at dinnertime. But I remember praying that Bobby was really my friend."

"And he was."

"Yeah. When I was a kid, I only got to hang out with him twice a year, but that was still better than nothing. And—eventually—Pam also became my friend because we spent time together in Sweden."

"But you seem so—uh—popular now," Sookie said.

"Superficial relationships are safe relationships," Eric said as if he were quoting a bumper sticker. "I didn't become a recluse in school as much as I became semi-popular with everyone, but close to no one. That seemed the safest way. And through everything, I did excel in my studies," Eric said somewhat, proudly. "Godric saw to that by always making sure that I was doing my homework." He chuckled a little. "Truth be told, he didn't need to. I loved being at school. It meant that I was away from Appius, and my schools became my homes—along with Mormor and Morfar's house in Sweden. I'm surprised my father didn't try to keep me from them, but they would have become even more suspicious of how my father treated me if he had. Plus, Appius wanted to remain in control of Larsson Publishing after Morfar retired, and—to do that—he had to stay on their good side."

"And you never told them—about Appius and the meetings? About what he did to make your life miserable?"

Eric shook his head. "What could I say that would have done any good? Until I was about ten or so—I really didn't understand that my situation wasn't normal. And—after that—I was smart enough to know that Appius could do a whole lot more damage to me than I could him. He didn't physically abuse me. He sent me to the finest schools. The worst he could have been accused of was neglect. And," he paused, "honestly, I worried that I would make things worse if I said anything."

"I know what you mean," Sookie said quietly.

Eric leaned in and kissed her lightly. "I know."

"My mother and your father were made for each other," she said.

He chuckled.

"A match made in hell, min älskade?"

She nodded against him.


	42. I Struggle to Swim, Part 2

Chapter 42: I Struggle to Swim, Part 2

"We should leave the sauna before we burn up," Eric said after a minute, even as he got up and retrieved his towel.

Sookie nodded and followed Eric out of the little room and then accepted a bottle of water that he took from a small refrigerator in the corner. He grabbed two robes from a rack and handed one to Sookie before putting on the other one.

"That's Pam's when she uses the sauna," he said, gesturing to the robe he'd given her.

After putting on his own robe, Eric sank down heavily onto the comfortable white sofa and began to drink his water. Sookie quickly changed from towel to robe and joined him on the couch, tucking her feet under her legs.

As she sipped her water, Eric picked up his story.

"All of that history is why I thought my father would let me call him Appius or Mr. Northman when I joined the company. Before then, he actually looked sickened on the rare occasions when I called him 'Father.' But Appius laughed at me when I asked him if I could address him like other employees did. He told me that the only way I would ever be even moderately successful was if I was known as his son. He told me that—despite what I thought my personal qualifications were—I was and would forever be nothing without him. And I was to call him 'Father' in public so that I would remember that we would never be equals. I remember the cruel look in his eyes when he said the word, 'father,' but it was a long time before I found out just how cruel Appius could be."

Sookie shifted and leaned her head against his shoulder, offering her silent support.

Eric went on. "For almost every day of my life that I remember, I've felt Appius's disapproval of me as well as his disappointment. Nothing has—or will—ever be good enough for him. Graduating at the top of my class for both my undergraduate and graduate degrees wasn't enough. Editing Harvard Business Review wasn't enough. Helping the profits of Northman Publishing improve by 22% in the five and a half years I've been with the company—despite the recession—hasn't been enough."

He sighed deeply. "I found out why he hated me when I was 26 years old. Right after the Larsson Publishing merger went through, Appius called me into his office. There was a man in a lab coat waiting to take my blood. And there was also another man there, a man Appius introduced as Peder Lang. Peder looked to be around my father's age."

"Who was he?" Sookie asked, her voice quivering.

"Appius thought Peder was my biological father," Eric said in almost a whisper. "During their marriage, my parents had made an arrangement with each other—just like the arrangements Appius has made with all of his other wives. If she was discreet, my mother could seek physical companionship elsewhere, and Appius definitely did the same. As you know, he prefers being with men, though he certainly believes in siring his own children." Eric laughed ruefully. "He chooses wives like a horse breeder chooses fillies."

"That seems so cold," Sookie remarked with a shiver.

"It is," Eric sighed as he wrapped her into his arms. "Appius sees marriage as a convenient institution where affection isn't a necessity—or even a preference. He believes in marrying women who will deliver worthy stock and who will advance his empire, but—when it all comes down to it—they are little more than decorative broodmares to him."

"And his wives? He's had four right? They all agreed to that?"

Eric shrugged. "Even now, arranged marriages aren't that uncommon among the wealthy. Appius is—at least—honest about his goals in his marriages, and the women he chooses have their own reasons for agreeing. For instance, Sophie-Anne prefers women, and my father encourages her dalliances. He provides her with the lifestyle she wants and asks for little in return, especially now that Appius, Jr. has been born. According to Nora, there is even talk of another child because Sophie-Anne has decided that she enjoys motherhood." He sighed loudly.

"What?" Sookie asked.

"Her definition of motherhood is to let nannies raise her child. From what I've heard from Nora, who still lives in the family home, A.J. is brought out briefly a couple of times a day, paraded around for everyone's approval, and then taken back to his nursery." He paused. "Still—Sophie-Anne and Appius have hired the best people to take care of A.J., so it could be worse."

Sookie nodded. "Yes. It could be."

Eric tightened his arm around her shoulder in a protective gesture before he went on, "In addition to providing a new heir, Sophie-Anne is supportive and savvy—the perfect New York wife, really. And—of course—she comes with Andre. Tamara, Appius's wife before Sophie-Anne, was equally willing to go along with Appius's marriage conditions for her own reasons. She too prefers women, but she wanted to be a mother. She's also from a very powerful—and very traditional—New York family that wanted to see her wed and that wanted to ignore the fact that she's a lesbian. On paper, Appius offered her a good match—again without many strings attached."

"Why did they divorce?" Sookie asked.

"Because of Gracie."

"Your half-sister?"

Eric nodded. "After Gracie was born, Tamara realized just how much Appius favored Nora above his other children. Also, from some general comments Pam has made, it's clear that Tamara wanted to be a very hands-on mother. She didn't want a nanny, and she was also against Gracie going away for boarding school. In the end, she asked for a divorce because she didn't want Gracie to be negatively affected by living with a cold father or by being shipped away."

"But wouldn't Tamara have seen how he treated his other kids before they got married?" Sookie asked.

"To see it with other people's kids and to see it with your own are two different things," Eric sighed. "Plus—since I wasn't around—Tamara would have seen Appius's interactions with only Nora, Alexei, and Pam. Appius has always treated Nora well. And—as long as she was getting the things she wanted—Pam would have seemed happy too. Alexei was quite young—though already spoiled—when Appius and Tamara married. Of me, she knew only that I was the eldest and away at school. In fact, she and Appius were only a couple of days away from getting married when I met her. And that's just because they married on Christmas Eve, so I was at Appius's house at the time."

"So she wouldn't have been able to tell that Appius treated you coldly."

"No. And at the time—as you'd imagine—she had a lot on her mind, other than getting to know me. Don't get me wrong, Tamara was nice—especially to Pam, Nora, and Alexei. And she's a really good mom to Gracie. However, since she married Appius when I was seventeen, I was rarely around her—especially since she and my father went on their honeymoon the week after Christmas that year. After that, I saw her only on Christmas days—at least while she was married to Appius. But that was enough for her to see my father's apathy toward me. After their divorce, she actually contacted me, and she lets me spend time with Gracie now. I go up to Boston several times a year to see her." He paused. "You can imagine how much Appius hates that."

"Yeah," Sookie responded.

Eric sighed. "Their marriage lasted less than five years. Appius—I think—blames me for their divorce."

"Why?" Sookie asked.

Eric shrugged. "I'm not sure. But Tamara saw how enraged Appius was after my grandfather John left me part of his estate, including some NP stock that Appius thought he was getting. And—for most of their marriage—I was allowed in the house only on Christmas day. I'm not sure, but I think that Tamara clashed with Appius regarding me a few times; she wanted me included in family functions, but—of course—Appius wouldn't hear of that."

"So you became a scapegoat for his marriage not working?" Sookie asked incredulously.

Again, Eric shrugged his shoulders. "I probably was one of the reasons why they broke up. Tamara is very perceptive, and I think that she got scared—once she realized that Appius was capable of treating a child so unfeelingly."

"What happened? I mean—Appius doesn't seem like the kind of person who would agree to a divorce."

Eric smiled a little. "You're right. But Tamara is just as good at making deals as Appius."

"So they struck a deal?" Sookie asked.

Eric nodded. "Appius had been involved in some hedge funds that became controversial, and that involvement was affecting many of his other investments. So—to deflect from that—Tamara admitted publically to having an affair she never had, and—suddenly—Appius was perceived as a victim. Of course, the hedge funds were forgotten." He chuckled ruefully. "In fact, Appius might as well have been given sainthood by the press. Tamara also gave him a large monetary settlement."

"And what did she get?" Sookie questioned tentatively.

"Exactly what she wanted—primary custody of Gracie and the freedom to move to Boston where a branch of her family's legal firm is located. Of course, the Davis family is quite rich and Tamara is a successful corporate lawyer in her own right, so she didn't really need Appius's wealth. He set up a trust fund for Gracie, but she'll get it only if she joins the Northman family business."

"So he'll eventually be able to control Gracie, too—if she wants her inheritance," Sookie stated flatly.

Eric shook his head. "I think that Tamara has established a separate trust fund for her. And Gracie is as smart as a whip," he said proudly. "Having her mother be so supportive has made her," he paused, "strong and kind. Most of the time, Appius doesn't have much to do with her, which is probably for the best. Truth be told, his primary goal in marrying Tamara was to connect himself with the Davis family, which raised his political capital."

Sookie nodded. "Because Stan Davis is in Congress."

"Yes. Stan was a New York State Representative when Tamara and Appius got married, but now that he's a U.S. Senator, he has much more power and influence. And Stan and Tamara's father was a Senator for years—and then Secretary of the Treasury under Reagan."

"I'm guessing that Appius won the Davis family connections in the divorce," Sookie said flatly.

Eric nodded. "Good guess."

"What about Appius's wife before that? That was Nora's mother—right? And Alexei's?"

"Yes. Beth Appleton-Gainesborough-Northman," Eric said with a little smirk.

"Why three names?"

"She liked them all," Eric answered with a little chuckle. "Don't get me wrong, Beth was nice—even to me. But, unlike Tamara, she didn't question Appius. She was very keen to raise my father's profile and status—and, therefore, her own. The Appletons are one of the oldest and most established families in New York, and she only raised their standing when she married Jeffrey Gainesborough, whom—I believe—was twelfth in line to the British throne."

"Really?" Sookie asked.

Eric chuckled. "I think Nora's actually in the line-up to the throne now—somewhere around two hundred."

Sookie furrowed her eyebrows. "Is she happy about that?"

Eric shrugged. "Actually, she doesn't care much either way. She gets invited to some of the larger royal functions, but that's about it. Of course, Appius loves the prestige of it all."

Sookie nodded in understanding.

"When Beth's first husband died, she waited two years—which her in-laws deemed an acceptable mourning period—before she formed her new 'partnership.' She wanted to move back to the United States, and she liked being on the arm of a powerful man. My father liked her all the more because of her royal connections and her family's status as New York nobility. Of course, it didn't hurt that she came with a shitload of money—from both her marriage to Gainesborough and the family she was born into. Some of that was put into trusts for Nora and Alexei, but my father got most of it when she died."

"Was Beth a lesbian too?" Sookie asked.

"No," Eric chuckled. "But she was very careful and discreet, and—at my father's insistence—she didn't have any affairs until after Alexei was born. Once she had a male heir, Appius told her that one child was enough for them—especially since Appius had all but adopted Nora by then." He sighed. "And then there was my mother—Stella."

"She was Appius's first wife?"

Eric nodded.

"And she made a deal with Appius too?"

Eric nodded again. "She did—at least to a certain extent. My mother and Appius met in college and were drawn to each other as friends and then as lovers. According to Mormor, to whom my mother confided many things, my father was firmly in the closet about his sexuality when he started college; he still is in many ways. Even now, only the immediate family and his closest friends know, but it isn't something discussed openly amongst anyone. I'm not even sure that my grandmother knows, but then again, Grace Northman sees only what she wants to see—especially where Appius is concerned."

"Why does he hide it now? I mean—I get why someone would have hidden it 40 years ago, but Appius is one of the richest men in New York, and nowadays being gay isn't that big of a deal."

"I'm not sure why he's kept it a secret. As you can imagine, he and I have never had a heart-to-heart about it." Eric sighed. "But I do feel sorry for him when it comes to that. It must have been difficult covering up a huge part of himself for all of these years, and he has gone to great lengths to cover it up. When Northman Towers was built in the 80s, he put in the apartments on the top floors mostly to hide his affairs with men. It was easy for him to pretend that a lover was a business associate; after all, some of them were. And visiting business associates were always invited to stay in the apartments—whether they were his lovers or not—so no one ever suspected anything. Hell—Appius even gets all the men he sleeps with to sign confidentiality agreements."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Eric responded. "I saw several of them in a file on his desk when I was fourteen and home for winter break. He'd sent me to his office and had kept me stewing before one of our meetings. That's how I found out he preferred men. The signatures were all male names. Of course, my father believes that I found out much, much later. You can imagine the kinds of things he threatened me with so that I would keep quiet about it."

Sookie squeezed his hand. "Well—the gossips at NP certainly don't know about it," Sookie mused. "They think that Andre is there because Sophie-Anne is insanely jealous and wants to prevent Appius from having an affair with another executive assistant—as he supposedly had with Sandy Seacreast."

Eric chuckled. "Pam has told me about those rumors. And—in truth—my father does occasionally sleep with women. In fact, every five years or so—almost like clockwork—he'll make sure he gets caught on camera with a woman he shouldn't be with so that he gets into the tabloids."

"So he'd rather be known as an adulterer than as gay?"

Eric nodded. "Sadly, adultery—though only when it is perpetrated by men—is almost expected in New York high society. It is even flaunted in some ways." He sighed. "Women do it too, of course, but they are expected to hide it better. Case in point—Nora is currently seeing Roman Zimojic. Do you know who that is?" Eric asked.

Sookie nodded.

"Roman and Nora are seeing each other quite openly, and no one gives a fuck. However, to have her own affairs, Roman's wife goes to Europe to hide her exploits. Of course, everyone 'knows' that she is screwing around too, but she is careful not to let any incriminating pictures get into the papers."

Sookie sighed. "My mother used to make me read people's lips wherever we went—even at church. She liked knowing other people's secrets—especially when they had affairs; it gave her a sense of power over them. And when people pissed her off, she would start rumors, based on the things I would tell her." She paused. "I hated it. The worst time was when I found out that the preacher at our church had a lover in Monroe; I read his end of a phone conversation at a football game. Later, my mother blackmailed him into giving her money to keep the affair a secret." She shook her head sadly. "I despised telling her things like that, but if I didn't give her something that she considered 'good' every month or so, she'd punish me."

It was Eric's turn to sigh as he tightened his arm around her shoulder. They were quiet for a couple of minutes.

"Will you tell me more about your mother and father's arrangement?" Sookie asked, remembering that Eric had left off in the middle of his story.

Eric took a deep breath. "As I said, when Appius first went to college, he was in denial about his sexual preferences. That's where my mother came in. As a Scandinavian and something of a hippy, she was much more open and liberal about sexuality than the run-of-the-mill American at the time. She was also very intuitive, and not long after she began dating Appius, she guessed that he wanted to be with men too. In fact, she encouraged him to experiment with men and set things up for him."

Sookie looked up at him with confusion.

"She arranged things so that they would have threesomes with Peder," he clarified.

"Oh," Sookie said, trying to wrap her head around the concept. Though her lip reading had insured that she wasn't completely sheltered from concepts like threesomes, they were definitely not something she'd personally thought about.

"It's a difficult thing for me to think about too," Eric shared, as if reading her mind.

"So—uh—Peder? As in the man from the meeting you started to tell me about?" she asked.

"Yeah. Peder was my father's first male lover, and my mormor believes that Appius fell in love with him. Peder is from Norway, and—apparently—my mother, Appius, and Peder were in a relationship for more than a year while they were in college; all of them even lived together. Everything was okay until Appius came home early one day to find Peder and Stella having sex without him." Obviously a little uncomfortable with the topic, Eric cleared his throat. "Appius was enraged. The three of them had obviously had sex together before, and Appius and Peder had had sex alone—as had my mother and Appius. But Appius didn't know the same was true with my mother and Peder. Appius became extremely jealous, though Mormor was not sure of whom he was most jealous."

Eric sighed. "I've come to believe that Appius loved them both very deeply—or at least thought of them both as his. I think that he was afraid of being pushed out of the equation if they loved each other more than him."

"It sounds like a soap opera," Sookie observed quietly.

"Yeah," Eric admitted, running his hand through his hair again. "A fucked up one. But, according to Mormor, my mother was very much in love with Appius, so when he asked her to give up Peder, she did. Bitter about what he perceived as them both cheating on him, my father chose Stella and kicked Peder out. That incident happened during Appius and Stella's junior year at college. The two stayed together, however, and Mormor told me that Appius forgave my mother for her supposed betrayal." He took a breath. "Mormor says that they were actually very happy with each other after that, though they never shared lovers again. As I said, my mother confided in my mormor a lot, and even though she was much more traditional than my mother when it came to marriage, she was happy when Appius proposed to Stella—despite the fact that Appius and my mother didn't expect fidelity in their marriage."

Eric paused for a moment as he seemed to collect his thoughts. "From what Mormor has said, my father and mother established a good and loving partnership. And she is positive that there was love on both sides. When my father graduated from business school and took over Northman Publishing from my grandfather, my mother was by his side, and she became something of a darling in New York society. They were known as the "golden couple"—because of both my mother's golden hair and my father's immediate success. Northman Publishing was much smaller when my grandfather was in charge since he had other businesses interests that took up much of his time, but Appius turned NP into the largest publishing house in the United States within only a few years. Three years after they were married, I was born. And then Pam was born two years after that. In my mormor's home, there are pictures that show my father holding me, looking proud and happy. There are also pictures of my father and mother together, looking very much in love. I have no memory of that happiness or love."

Eric took a deep breath before continuing. "However, my mormor insists that they were in love and that my father was extremely proud of his children, especially me. My mother confided in Mormor that, though she and Appius had agreed to have an open marriage, they still shared a marital bed quite often. My father had a variety of male lovers in the days of my parents' marriage, and my mother apparently encouraged that because she wanted him to be happy and satisfied. However—as far as my father and most other people knew—she had no affairs during their marriage. She told Appius that she was content to be with just him once they began trying for children. And she promised to tell him if her feelings on that matter changed."

"But she didn't—did she?" Sookie asked astutely.

"No." He paused for a moment. "When she was pregnant with me, my mother found out that she had breast cancer. She refused an aggressive treatment plan while she was pregnant, but after I was born, she received radiation and chemotherapy, and she ended up going into remission. Two years after Pam was born, my mother found out the cancer was back. It was already quite advanced by then, but she tried to fight it, and she lived for another year. I was only five when she died, but I remember my morfar and mormor visiting New York for a long time; I guess that was around the time my mother died. I also remember my father crying and hugging me." He sighed. "I think that memory is of him telling me that my mother had died, but I can't be sure."

Eric was silent for a minute, obviously trying to get a handle on his bubbling emotions. "That is the best memory I have of my father," he said, brushing a tear from his eye. "It is the only good one I have, and it came with her dying, so I was confused by it for many years."

"And after she died? Why did things change?"

Eric sighed. "After my mother's funeral, my mormor and morfar stayed another week or so. I don't have any memories of that time, but my mormor says that they stayed on to help Appius find a live-in nanny who could care for me and Pam. They also wanted to stay through the reading of my mother's Will. Mormor told me that Appius seemed to become closed off a few days after the funeral, and by the time the Will was read, he was barely acknowledging them or me, though he would still hold Pam and rock her to sleep. Mormor says that before then, he always had a lot to do with me. She said that I was like a little barnacle around his leg."

Eric smiled a little before his face fell. "I don't have any memories of that either. Other than the one hug, I remember my father only as being cold and distant and critical." He sighed. "When Appius pulled away from me, Mormor and Morfar thought that he was just grieving because of losing my mother. Apparently, I looked just like her, and—though Pam had her blond hair—she clearly favored Appius."

He paused in order to collect his thoughts. "According to Mormor, on the day before she and Morfar went back to Sweden, my mother's Will was read. Among her possessions, Stella had a lock-box, which she left to Mormor; the Will described the contents as pictures, letters, and jewelry that she wanted to go back to the Larsson side of the family. However, before my mother died, she told Mormor that the box also contained some things that she didn't want my father to see, and she gave Mormor the extra key to the box—a key that she kept on a charm bracelet she wore. My mother knew that Appius would find out about the box and its location when the Will was read. Knowing how curious my father was, she anticipated that he might want to see the contents of the box, so she asked my grandmother to share them with Appius with the exception of a bundle of letters, which Mormor was to keep secret and pass along to Peder. Stella was very insistent that those letters stay private, and Mormor agreed to help her."

Eric took a deep breath. "At the reading of the Will, Appius seemed surprised by the existence of the lock-box, but he followed my mother's instructions and found its location. She'd hidden it on the top shelf of her closet." He chuckled, though Sookie could tell that his heart wasn't in it. "I think Mormor thought she was Emma Peel or something. When Appius gave her the box, she asked for a few minutes alone, saying she needed to compose herself. That was before the lawyer gave her the key to the box," Eric reported.

"But she had her own key," Sookie observed.

"Yeah. When she was alone, she opened the box and hid the letters. Then she locked the box again and pretended to open it for the first time when the lawyer handed her the key he had."

"And Appius was there when she opened it."

"He was," Eric confirmed. "In the box was exactly what the Will had described. And—just as my mother had predicted—Appius was curious about what was in it. But there was nothing suspicious—only old family photos, a few pieces of jewelry, and some mementos my mother had kept from her childhood. My mormor had thought that my mother's secret was safe."

Sookie's brow furrowed. "Why didn't your mom just give your grandmother the letters before she died instead of going through all that clandestine stuff?"

Eric sighed. "By all accounts, my mother tried to live normally—despite her disease and its treatment—for as long as she could. But one day, she fell down the stairs due to her weakness. She broke her hip, and—given her condition—surgery wasn't an option. My father converted one of the downstairs bedrooms into a hospital-type room for her so that she could get her treatments at home. After her fall, she was never able to walk upstairs again, so she couldn't get to her box of secrets."

Eric sighed, his voice sounding agonized. "The sad part is that I think my mother truly loved Appius deeply—even then. And I think that he wanted only to care for her; according to my mormor, he hardly ever left her side after she became bedridden." He sighed. "My mother simply wanted to protect him from the one secret she'd kept from him."

"What was in them—the letters?"

"Mostly, they were love letters from Peder to my mother," Eric said with a sigh. "Stella had lied to Appius. She and Peder had continued to see each other every time she went to Sweden alone to visit my grandparents. It seems that she loved both Peder and Appius. But to keep Appius, she kept Peder a secret. Apparently, she and Peder settled for meeting a few times a year. According to Mormor, there was one letter in the batch that wasn't written by Peder—but was addressed to him in my mother's handwriting."

"She wanted to tell Peder goodbye," Sookie commented.

Eric nodded, even as he tensed a little at the word goodbye. "I believe Appius's lawyer at the time—Dermot Faeman—let him see my mother's Will before the official reading, probably several days before. I believe that Appius found and opened that box. And I believe that he read the letters from and the letter to Peder, which would account for the changes my mormor saw in him. As I said, Mormor and Morfar thought he was in mourning, but I now believe that he was trying to hide his rage from my grandparents. You see—Appius still wanted control of my grandfather's company and the Larsson wealth. So he didn't confront my mormor when she hid the letters from him."

"How did you learn of them?" Sookie asked.

"At the meeting with Appius, Peder, and doctor," Eric responded as he ran a hand through his hair. "Appius showed me a photocopy of the letter my mother had written to Peder. It was unfinished and dated two days before she fell down the stairs. She started it after she'd learned from her doctors that the treatment she was receiving was not helping and that she would likely be dead within a few months. Appius—and I quote—wanted me 'to see how much of a bastard I was and how much of a whore my mother was.'"

"But their marriage was open," Sookie said. "Appius had affairs."

"I think it was the secrecy of my mother's affair that enraged him. Or maybe it was the fact that she told Peder that she still loved him in the letter. Or maybe it was the fact that Appius still loved Peder. I don't know. What I do know is that my father was certain that Peder was my father. And the doctor was there to draw blood so that a DNA test could be performed."


	43. I Struggle to Swim, Part 3

Chapter 43: I Struggle to Swim, Part 3

Sookie gasped. "Why didn't Appius have a DNA test done before—right after he found the letters?" She did some quick math in her head. "I mean—I know that DNA testing wasn't as common then, but surely someone like him could have gotten access. And—if you were someone else's son—wouldn't it have been easier for everyone involved to have proven it then?"

Eric sighed. "Easier—yes. But less satisfying for Appius's desire for revenge. Plus, he needed me in order to get Larsson Publishing. The company was part of the trust fund that my grandparents had set up for me."

"The trust fund that Appius still won't let you have access to?"

"Yes." Eric sighed heavily. "If it had been discovered that I wasn't Appius's son, Mormor and Morfar would have fought Appius for the trust—at least the part from the Larsson side. And they would have won. I would have inherited Larsson Publishing. And—I would have grown up happy—probably in Sweden," he added with a sigh.

Sookie closed her eyes tightly. "That's why Appius insisted that Larsson Publishing be completely absorbed into Northman Publishing and that the name be changed," she said, horrified. "Just so he could take it from you—hurt you."

"Yes," Eric responded in an even tone. "And I was the one ultimately responsible for the merger, a fact that pleased Appius greatly. Since Larsson was officially mine because of my trust fund, only I could complete the merger, and I did just that for the overall good of both Larsson Publishing and Northman Publishing—at least that's why I thought I was doing it. Appius gave me access to my trust fund only long enough for me to finalize the merger and sign away my Larsson legacy. Of course, I thought that my legacy was all one thing—Northman and Larsson together—just as my grandfathers had envisioned when they had designed the trust fund.

He took a shaky breath. "Appius seemed excited about the merger. And during the last week it took to finalize the deal, his attitude toward me even seemed to change." He smiled ruefully at the memory. "It was like magic. Appius acted as if he was proud of me; he told me that I was proving to be so good in business that he felt that I should receive the rest of the trust fund at the end of the year." Eric closed his eyes for a moment. "Appius smiled at me, he patted my back, and he even introduced me as his 'son, Eric' once." He paused as his voice caught. "It was everything I'd ever hoped for, and, like a fool, I bought the whole act—hook, line, and sinker—mostly because I wanted so badly to believe in it. I thought I was feeling his approval. I thought I was feeling his love."

"But it was all fake," Sookie said sadly.

"Yes. Fake. Once Larsson Publishing was officially absorbed by Northman Publishing, it was no longer part of my trust fund, and the publishing house, of course, made up the majority of what my morfar had left to me. So—just like that—Appius had what he'd wanted for years," Eric said in an agonized tone.

"What was that?" Sookie asked, knowing the answer wasn't simply a publishing house that Appius could add to his own.

"Revenge," Eric said, his eyes looking haunted. "I figured it up once. Appius spent at least $50,000 a year to send me to boarding schools, so that's over $650,000 for thirteen years. I received scholarships that covered most of my college costs, though Appius provided me with a forty thousand dollar check when I was eighteen in order to cover my expenses until I was 21—which is when I got my inheritance from my paternal grandfather. When you factor in things like clothing and food and the plane tickets to Sweden that Appius so generously supplied each summer while I was a child so that I was away from his sight, the tally is approaching $750,000. That is the price that Appius decided to pay in order to put me in the position to voluntarily sign over a billion-dollar company. He likely thought it was cost effective."

Sookie didn't say anything. Her words would have sounded like pity, and she knew very well that pity wasn't what Eric needed. Instead, she kissed his hand tenderly and continued to listen to him.

"And then there was the time he had to commit to his plan," Eric went on. "All those years of 'meetings' with me that he had to clear his schedule for. All those hours of plotting ways to make my life painful in order to punish my mother for being in love with the man Appius loved. All those years of getting back at me for being born."

He ran his hand through his hair. "He blames me for her death—you know."

"Why?" Sookie uttered.

"Her oncologists wanted her to terminate her pregnancy with me so that she could receive better treatment the first time she had cancer, but she wouldn't do it."

"But she went into remission afterwards," Sookie said reasonably.

Eric shrugged. "Who's to say whether or not the cancer could have been fully eradicated if it had been taken care of earlier that first time? Hell—maybe there's some truth in what Appius thinks."

"You can't think that way," Sookie said quietly. "It was her choice to make. She loved you."

Eric's lip quivered. "Yes—she did." He took a long breath. "According to Mormor, Appius supported my mother's choice to have me, but that was when he thought that I was his child."

Sookie squeezed his hand.

Eric kept speaking as if he were being forced to do so. "Whether a valid belief or not, Appius spent years thinking that his wife died because she had chosen not to get rid of another man's child. And I was the ever-constant reminder of that choice."

He sighed deeply. It was another minute before he spoke again. His voice was pained, but strong. "Yes—the women who marry my father always make deals with him. Sophie-Anne is to be his perfect socialite wife; she is to give him access to Andre. She is to display his wealth at social functions. And she was required to provide a child—a male—so that Appius could ensure that a Northman son he loved and approved of ended up with the company. And Sophie-Anne is doing her job beautifully.

"Tamara's job was to provide my father with government connections and clout. She was to appear with him at social functions and impress people with her intelligence and wit. She was to add to the tally of his children. Despite their divorce, he got exactly what he wanted from her.

"Beth's job was to solidify my father's position in high society. But—since my father believed me to be the bastard child of another man—she was to give him a son too, which she did. Unfortunately, Alexei hasn't turned out well—according to my father's standards—which is why he needed Sophie-Anne to produce a new male heir. Before that DNA test, I always wondered why my father allowed Alexei to go wild, but now I realize that it was because he treated Alexei in the exact opposite way that he treated me. Instead of trying to withhold everything that gave Alexei joy—as Appius did with me—he endeavored to give him anything he wanted. But that didn't work out so well either, so Appius, Jr. is my father's chance to avoid those mistakes. Regardless, Beth, too, did exactly as she was supposed to do; plus, she added handsomely to the coffers, just as Sophie-Anne and Tamara did. And, of course, Beth provided Appius with Nora.

"Mormor told me that Appius loved being a father when my mother was alive. I have no reason to doubt her, though I cannot remember it." He paused. "Nora's arrival allowed him the opportunity to be a father again since his heart had cooled toward Stella's children." Eric sighed. "I'm just glad that Pam has never received Appius's full ire as I have. I've noticed things—a certain coldness Appius has with Pam on occasion. But—thankfully—Pam hasn't noticed it. Or, perhaps, she doesn't care.

"For many years, I was jealous of Nora. Appius gave her so much attention. He would speak to her at the dinner table as if he cared about everything she had to say. Meanwhile, he wouldn't even look at me during dinner, which was generally the only time I'd be around him other than our meetings. I used to go back and forth between wishing that I could just disappear and wishing that he'd acknowledge that I was in the room—even if it was with a sneer or a glare. But, eventually, the jealousy stopped when I realized that it wasn't Nora's fault that my father didn't love me." His voice grew quieter. "I came to understand that there was something about me—about my very being—that Appius abhorred."

Sookie kissed Eric's hand again, trying to will strength into him as he said aloud things that he'd probably never put into words before. Eric leaned in so that his head rested against hers. He didn't speak for a few minutes.

"My mother's deal with Appius was different from those his other wives made with him," Eric resumed with resolution in his voice. "There was love between them—and friendship. She did choose Appius over Peder, after all—and even her last letter to Peder didn't indicate that she regretted that choice. I believe that my mother chose the man who would give her the life she wanted—as well as affection. Peder wouldn't have given her that life. He's a simple man in many ways; he operates a farm in Norway, a farm that has been in his family for centuries. Yes—he came to the United States for school, but he never intended to stay. And my mother wanted to live here—in New York. So she chose Appius, and the partnership they formed was beneficial for both of them. She helped to establish Appius in society to a level that Grandfather Northman was never able to achieve, despite his wealth. But that is what my mother wanted too. She loved the parties and the lifestyle. And she loved the philanthropy that she could accomplish."

He paused to take a long breath. "My parents really were perfect for each other in many ways. Hell—maybe they were destined. Stella was the only daughter of one of the largest publishers in Europe. Appius was the only heir of the Northman empire, which included a prominent publishing firm that he was to take over. And their son was the perfect vessel to symbolize the joining of those empires."

Eric paused and readjusted a little so that he could lie back and snuggle Sookie more fully into his body.

"A few years ago," he picked up, "during one of my summer visits to Sweden, I told my mormor about the paternity test and asked about my mother, Peder, and Appius." He tightened his arms around her even as she did the same.

"That must have been difficult," Sookie said softly.

He nodded. "That's when Mormor told me about my mother's relationship with Peder. Mormor was always aware that they'd kept seeing each other, but she also reiterated that my mother was devoted to Appius—and then to Pam and me." He paused and took a deep breath. "In the same conversation, Mormor told me that my birth was a great occasion and that the trust fund created by my grandfathers was much celebrated by everyone. Morfar Johan apparently handed out Cuban cigars while Grandfather John passed around the finest scotch anyone had ever tasted. My two grandfathers foresaw a life for me in which I would be blessed and much loved.

"Morfar Johan wanted me to have his company when I was old enough, but he feared he wouldn't live long enough to pass it to me directly, so he put that inheritance into the trust fund—along with some other assets, though I'm not sure what. Grandfather John figured that Northman Publishing would pass to me through Appius, but he added a small fortune to the trust fund in the form of stocks and bonds and other types of investments. In truth, I'm not even sure what all is in the trust fund.

"And—of course—my parents were named as guardians of the trust fund. In fact, my grandparents—out of love—decided that my father and mother should determine when to release the trust fund to me. None of them wanted me to have to take on the responsibility of a fortune before I was ready to handle it. But—by the same token—none of them wanted me to have to wait for an arbitrary age if I was ready to take it on earlier. And none of them could have foreseen that Appius would one day withhold the trust fund out of spite."

Though his voice was shaking, Eric went on as if being compelled to speak. "Mormor said that it was difficult to get Appius to put me down when I was an infant. She said that he would look at me like I was a miracle and rock me in his arms for hours." Eric sighed. "Maybe he had to start hating me so much in order to stop loving me. I'll never know." He was quiet for a moment. "But hate me he did. I could feel that hate like a tangible hit to the stomach on the day he presented me with my mother's letter, Peder, and the doctor who took my blood. Nothing he'd done to me had ever hurt that much. Maybe that was because I'd been so hopeful that I was finally going to get his love—because of the merger I'd put together."

Sookie wiped away some of the large tears that were falling from her eyes but said nothing as Eric went on.

"Appius so enjoyed toying with me as we waited for the results of the DNA test. Before the merger, my mormor was receiving a percentage of the profits from Larsson, and I'd set things up so that she would still get a yearly stipend. But Appius planned to nullify the stipend by eliminating the longstanding contracts that would have funded it. That would have meant that—except for a modest inheritance from her parents—Mormor would have been left with no income. Appius joked that he was finally going to get back at her for her duplicity in keeping Stella's adultery a secret. I thought I'd taken care of her," Eric sighed, "but I hadn't. Appius also showed me a memo which ordered the termination of the people I'd arranged to bring over from Larsson Publishing."

Eric took a long breath. "It's almost admirable—the lengths to which Appius went and the patience he took in plotting his revenge. He kept his knowledge of my mother's affair a secret for twenty years as he played the dutiful—though distant—father to me. And no one—besides my headmasters at school—ever suspected him guilty of cruelty toward me because, fearful of losing the level of comfort I was able to find for forty-nine weeks out of the year, I told no one."

As he trembled, Sookie burrowed her body into his as much as possible, trying to infuse him with her love.

"Appius sent me to the best schools and made sure I attended the best college. He played up the grieving widower spiel to my morfar and mormor when they would speak by phone. He claimed that being around me hurt him because of how much I reminded him of my mother. And Morfar and Mormor believed him. So when Morfar retired, he handed Appius the reigns of Larsson Publishing as long as it was kept separate for me—as long as it was kept salient and waiting for me."

Eric closed his eyes as if tortured. "Appius gave me my job at Northman Publishing only as a means to an end—a way to finally get ahold of Larsson Publishing. And the genius of his revenge was that he made the destruction of that family's legacy my first assignment. And—in doing that—he hoped to break my spirit. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised when confronted with the DNA test, which was conducted the day after the Northman/Larsson merger went through." He sighed. "But I was surprised by it. I had thought," his voice broke and he was silent for a moment. "I had thought—just the day before—that I had finally begun to earn my father's love."

Sookie felt more tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Appius tracked down Peder and dangled the promise of a child—me—over his head to get him to come to New York."

"Why not Pam?" Sookie asked in a ragged voice. "Why wasn't he in doubt about her paternity?"

Eric responded glumly. "Apparently—with Pam—the math didn't work out. After I was born, my mother didn't go to Sweden as much. And in the months around the time Pam was conceived, she didn't go at all. Pam also has a birthmark on her right leg, matching one that Appius has exactly. Plus, I found out from Appius's spewing the day of my DNA test—that he did confirm her paternity when she was in the hospital for pneumonia at age thirteen. However, he was so sure that I wasn't his—so rigid in that belief—that he hadn't bothered to have a test run for me before. Of course, all of his 'new' kids get DNA testing first thing." He laughed mirthlessly. "That's just another part of the deal."

"So Peder came to New York to see if you were his?" Sookie asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes. Peder still loved my mother, even after all the time that had passed, and—though he didn't think I was his child since he believed that Stella would have told him if I were—he came for the test anyway. He came hoping that I was his."

Eric sighed. "When I saw him, I couldn't blame Appius for being suspicious. Peder Lang is only a couple of inches shorter than I am, and he has blond hair and blue eyes similar to my own. He even has a cleft on his chin. Hell—from the look of us next to each other—there seemed to be little doubt about to whom I belonged; that was another reason why Appius never had the test conducted before then." He paused. "So—for about four hours one overcast April day as we all waited for the test results—I allowed myself to hope that I would soon have a father who loved me."

Eric smiled a little. "I realized in those four hours that my life would be so much better if I wasn't a Northman. It didn't even bother me when Appius gleefully told me about his plans to fire me from the company that very day. His lawyer had already drawn up settlement papers for me to sign if—when—I turned out not to be his."

"What was the settlement?" Sookie asked haltingly.

Eric took a shuddering breath as if the memory were causing him physical pain. "As severance, I would be given my salary from Northman Publishing for two more weeks," he said quietly. "I was to immediately forfeit the NP stock that my grandfather John had left me in his Will; if I didn't, Appius said that he would sue me for the stock as well as for the money I'd inherited. He claimed that he could prove that I'd received the stock and money under false pretenses. He said that the correspondence between my mother and Peder served as proof that my mormor knew all along that I wasn't Appius's child, and he threatened to sue her for damages in a civil court if she ever set foot on U.S. soil again. He also threatened to make sure that Mormor never saw Pam again if I didn't agree to the settlement."

Eric sighed. "Appius said he was being generous. If I did as he wanted, I would be allowed to clean out my personal bank accounts without a fight from him. Most of that money was from my inheritance from my grandfather, and Appius was going to allow me to keep that as long as I handed over my NP stock and began the process of changing my name from Northman that very day. He even had the paperwork waiting for me.

"Appius claimed that he had already arranged to have me arrested for fraud if I didn't agree to sign the settlement and go quietly. And going is exactly what he wanted from me. He wanted me to leave New York within twenty-four hours, and since I had been—at his insistence—living in one of the apartments at NP at that time, he told me he'd have me forcibly removed if I didn't leave voluntarily. He suggested that Europe would be an acceptable distance from him. And he said that I was no longer to have contact with anyone in the Northman family, including Pam."

Sookie squeezed his hand as her tears continued to fall.

"When I told Appius that I'd never agree to sever contact with my sister—even if she was just my half-sister—he threatened to drag my mother's name through the deepest mud that he could find. And he pointed out how much that would hurt Pam. He said that he had copies of every letter Peder had written to my mother and that her letter to Peder would be in the New York Post the very next day if I didn't comply. He said that if I made waves, I would never get a job in publishing again—no matter where I tried to go. And he threatened to have my bank accounts frozen and to take everything from me—or, at the very least, to keep all that I had tied up in legal battles for years. I believed him," Eric said bitterly.

"But I also figured that Pam and I could maintain some form of contact without Appius knowing—through Mormor," Eric added. "And I knew that if I were out from under Appius's thumb, I would be okay. Even though I'd only been working at Northman Publishing for a little under a year by then, I had saved quite a bit of money. I'd already invested the money Grandfather John had left to me, and that was more than enough for me to make a new start in life. And, more importantly, agreeing to Appius's demands would allow me to take care of Mormor financially." He sighed almost wistfully. "I was already thinking that I could go back to school for a degree in architecture or maybe even build a new publishing company in Sweden—one that restored my morfar's name in the industry. By then, I'd discovered that I really did like working in publishing, and I was good at it too.

"And—I figured that if Appius really did leave me alone, I could get a job somewhere else, based solely on my schooling and the good reputation I'd been building for myself. Maybe I was naïve," he added with a shrug, "but I imagined building a life on my own terms, a life that Appius was no longer a part of. I imagined friends that Appius wouldn't take away and a job that he couldn't threaten. I imagined living a quiet life and taking care of my grandmother. And while we waited for the tests, Peder and I were able to talk a little after Appius ran out of things to rant about and left Peder and me alone. Peder was," he paused, "decent to me, even though he didn't think he was my father."

"And he wasn't," Sookie said regretfully.

"No. He was not. The tests confirmed—without a doubt—that I was Appius's son. Based on blood type alone, I couldn't have been Peder's." Eric shook his head. "No one was more shocked about the test results than Appius. I think the appropriate word would be 'appalled.' He ordered the tests to be run a second time."

Eric and Sookie were quiet for a few minutes as they both tried to rein in their emotions.

When he spoke again, it was in a barely audible voice. "After we found out, I admit that there was a part of me that hoped that Appius might decide to love me since I really was his son. And—God help me—I would have forgiven him for everything if he would have just told me that he was sorry for what he'd done to me for most of my life."

"But Appius's attitude didn't change toward you," Sookie stated more than asked.

"If anything, he became harsher—more disdainful. And it was after that that he began to formulate his new plans for me," Eric relayed bitterly. "Before the DNA test said I was truly his son, he saw me only as a means to take the Larsson fortune. After that, he decided that he might as well use me—since I was blood and all. It was then that he determined that—with my pedigree and looks—I could marry well and align the Northmans with another prominent family. It was then that he brought me the contract. He'd seen enough to know that I liked my work, so—of course—he decided to hold that over my head. At first, I told him to fuck off. I told him that I was done trying to earn his approval and love. I told him that I was leaving NP and New York and that he could shove his contract up his ass! And I told him that he could have my NP stock if he'd just leave me the hell alone."

"Why didn't you leave then?" Sookie asked cautiously.

"Appius presented me with an offer I couldn't refuse," Eric said, sounding more fatalistic than Sookie had ever heard him before. "So I made a deal with the devil."

"What is your deal with Appius?" Sookie asked in a whisper. "I know that it somehow involves other people—a hundred and four. Will you tell me about it?"

Eric sighed. "Can I tell you later—maybe after my meeting? It starts in half an hour, and I need to get dressed and ready."

She quickly shuffled to her feet. "I'm sorry. I lost track of the time. And you don't have to tell me at all—you know."

Eric smiled, stood up, and kissed her forehead. "No—I want you to know everything. You need to know how I'm trapped. How I trapped myself," he finished dejectedly.

"I'll wait up for you then," she said.

"You don't have to. I can tell you tomorrow."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway."

He smiled. "Neither would I."

She raised herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you, Eric."

"Thank you," he answered as he pulled her into an embrace. "Thank you."


	44. Floating

Chapter 44: Floating

Ninety minutes later, Eric found Sookie in the sitting room just off of his—their—bedroom. She was reading Faulkner and listening to a television channel that played classical music. She looked beautiful, even more so because she seemed so comfortable among his things. He stayed in the doorway for a few moments, memorizing the sight of her, before approaching.

"There are television channels that play music," she said with a grin as she saw him, saved her place, and put her book down. "And I didn't break your television!"

He chuckled. "Did you try?"

She giggled. "Nope, but that," she pointed to the remote control, "is of the devil."

He half-laughed and half-snorted at her words, the sound surprising them both.

She sat up straight. "Sex or talking?" she asked brazenly.

He chuckled. "Sex—definitely."

"Good," she jumped up and launched herself into his arms. "Because I've been thinking about you."

He caught her and enjoyed the way she wrapped herself around him: her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. More than that, however, he enjoyed the confidence that she was displaying with him.

Immediately, their lips found each other's, and they kissed until they were both panting.

"What were you thinking about—specifically?" he gasped.

She blushed.

"Sookie?" he asked gently, tickling her side and causing her to squirm in his arms. Her movement was delicious against his cock, so he tickled her again.

"Your boxing bag," she admitted so that he'd stop. Her continued wiggling was not good motivation for him to do so, but he did relent—though mainly so that he could keep her secured in his arms.

"What about my boxing bag?" he asked, his eyebrow shooting up in curiosity.

"I was thinking about you hitting it. Without a shirt on," she confessed, her cheeks flaring red.

He smirked as he began massaging her ass where he was gripping her. "You can watch me work out tomorrow, min älskare. On Tuesday mornings, I usually go down to the pool for some laps, and then I come back up and punch the bag. You could swim with me and then watch." His eyebrows were waggling naughtily as he continued to caress her bottom.

"I can't swim," she said through a moan.

"Would you like to learn?" he asked, stopping his ministrations for a moment.

She nodded.

"Then I'll teach you—starting this morning."

"I don't have a bathing suit here."

He chuckled. "We'll have Henry lock the doors to be sure, but there's never anyone at the pool when I go in early. Tomorrow, you can wear a bra and panties—or a pair of my shorts and T-shirt if you want."

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

"It's no big deal," Eric assured.

"No," she said sincerely, "everything with you is a big deal."

He leaned in and kissed her gently, even as he began to carry her toward the bedroom. After he laid her down, he quickly took off his own clothing while she took off her T-shirt and flannel sleep pants.

"I want to try something," she half-whispered and half-whimpered as he started kissing up her body.

"Anything," he said.

"Can I—uh—be on top?" she asked with a little blush.

"Yes," he growled as he took one of her nipples into his mouth.

"Eric," she moaned as he caressed her other breast with one set of long fingers even as he was circling her clit with the other set.

He could feel how wet she already was. "How long did you think about me, min älskare?" he asked, his voice feral.

"How long were you on the phone?" she returned, biting her lips coyly.

"Ninety minutes."

"Eighty-nine then," she answered.

He plunged two fingers into her welcoming heat. "Not the entire ninety?" he asked gruffly as he began to pump.

"Oh God," she moaned as he sucked on her breast harder.

"I thought of you for every second that I was away from you," he growled as he moved to her other nipple.

"Me too," she said with a pant as he stopped the movement of his fingers. "Eric, don't stop," she said.

He looked up at her, his eyes seeming more like an animal's than a man's in that moment. "Move on my fingers, Sookie. Ride them like you're going to ride me?" he half-asked and half-demanded.

"Eric," she moaned as she began to move her hips so that she was moving herself on his fingers. She'd never done anything like that before, but she didn't feel embarrassed—not with him. In fact, she grabbed his hand with one of hers so that she could make it do what she wanted more easily.

"Fuck, Sookie. You're so beautiful," he gasped as he moved up and kissed her hard on the lips. He curled his fingers as she rocked herself against his hand.

When he brought his thumb to her clit, she immediately saw stars and exploded around his fingers, her mouth open but no sounds coming out as she rode her climax to its completion. Eric watched her beautiful face and felt her fingers curl around his hand as he continued to pump her slowly—until her inner walls had stopped pulsing.

"Wow," she gasped after a few minutes.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he rolled a condom onto his engorged cock.

"You're going to have to be the one to do all the work to start with," she half-giggled and half-panted, still trying to catch her breath.

"My pleasure," he growled as he moved to hover above her and then slowly pushed inside of her. Though he'd made love to her several times during the previous twenty-four hours, she was still incredibly tight around him.

"Eric," she moaned as he set a slow pace, teasing them both. He pushed into her fully before pulling back unhurriedly, angling himself so that his tip hit her g-spot each time he withdrew. "Faster," she demanded after a few minutes.

"Make me," he growled playfully as he kissed her breasts, her collar bone, her neck, her cheeks—anything his lips could reach.

When she began to thrust her hips upward to meet him, he took it as a signal that she was ready to take charge of the situation, which he was more than happy to let her do. Without leaving her body, he rolled them over so that she was on top of him. He rested his hands on her hips and took in the beautiful woman straddling him. Her eyes closed in her ecstasy, she was smiling a little at the sensations cascading through her body as well as the feeling of being in complete control of him. Still sheathed fully inside of her, he moaned as she began grinding her hips into his.

Experimentally, Sookie tightened her inner muscles around him.

"Oh God! Do that again," Eric half-pleaded and half-ordered.

She squeezed again, even as her eyes popped open to gauge his reaction. His hands moved up to her breasts as he groaned at the sensations she was causing for him.

She smiled. "You like that?" she asked, her voice low.

"Yes," he breathed.

She began moving up and down slowly. "Tell me what it feels like?" she asked him as she settled her hands onto his chest so that she could better control the rising and falling of her body onto his.

"The physical feelings or the emotions?" he asked with a pant.

"Everything," she said as she set a slow rhythm.

"It's like every molecule in my body is tingling and alive," he described amidst moans of pleasure. "And I feel like I want to explode from it. And my heart—my heart," his voice trailed off.

"It's so full that it feels like it'll push its way out of your chest with every beat," she finished for him.

"Yes," he agreed. "Like that. What about you?" he managed to ask as he put his hands onto her hips so that he could help in her movements.

"I feel like I'm on a swing," she rasped out as she increased her pace.

"A swing?"

"Yeah." She closed her eyes and her head lolled back a little. "Like when you twist around and around in a swing until the ropes are so tangled and taut that you know the uncoiling of them is going to leave you dizzy for hours."

"But you still try to twist around one last time," he said, his voice straining as his own "uncoiling" approached.

She opened her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "Eric, touch me."

He knew just where she needed that touch and brought one of his hands to her clit.

"So close to spinning," Sookie murmured.

"Yes," Eric agreed with a moan. "So. Fucking. Close."

She squeezed her inner muscles once more, and he could no longer hold onto his release. He pulsed into her several times before she quaked above him and fell against his chest.

He held her tightly as she shivered through her aftershocks.

"Has sex always been like that—for you?" she asked after a few minutes of recovery.

"No, Sookie. It's never been like that—until you."

She nodded against his chest. "Eric?" she said his name like a question.

"Hmmm?"

"We fit, don't we? I mean—not just sex, but other things—everything? That's not just me—right?"

"It's not just you," he assured, kissing her forehead. "And you're right. We do fit."

She sighed. "It's so easy to be with you. It's so easy to talk to you and to trust you." She looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest. "Are we soul mates?" she whispered.

He smiled a little. "I never believed in the concept of soul mates before, but—yes—I think we are." He paused. "I know we are." His eyes became forlorn.

"You think I was given to you just so that I could be taken away?" she asked sadly.

He blinked away a tear that immediately threatened to fall. "Yes," he admitted. "But I don't care. I want you anyway. I want to feel this. I want to feel something that will make all the suffering bearable." He caressed her cheek. "I just wish that you didn't have to suffer with me. I wish I could have been strong enough—unselfish enough—to walk away from you."

"I feel selfish too," she said, turning her head so that her cheek was over his heart.

They lay there for several minutes, just holding each other.

"You tired?" he asked when he felt her shifting a little in his arms.

"No—not really," she responded. "You?"

"No—still dizzy from the swing."

"Me too."

"Should we take a quick shower?" Eric suggested.

She giggled.

"What?"

"I've never been so alternatively clean and then sweaty in my whole life. I have a feeling we're going to be taking a lot of baths and showers over the next few years."

He chuckled. "Well—we have already established that we are selfish for each other, so I think your hypothesis is probably correct, min kära. And I do have a lot of tubs we can utilize."

"Better get started then," Sookie said with a grin.

Half an hour later, Eric and Sookie were still wet, but it wasn't from their shower. After quickly—though thoroughly—washing each other to eliminate the evidence of their exertion, they had decided to go ahead and have their swimming lesson since it was already 5:00 a.m., and neither of them felt sleepy. They figured that after the lesson, they could eat a light breakfast and then talk about Eric's contract with Appius.

Then they planned to go to bed until 4:00 p.m. when Eric would need to get prepared for that night's phone meetings and Sookie would need to get ready for her appointment with Claudine. They figured that they could establish a more "normal" sleep schedule when they were both working regular hours again. And putting in an all-nighter wasn't that unusual for either of them, though most of the time it was due to insomnia. Both of them were used to much less sleep than they'd gotten lately, and the week's unusual schedule and their emotional conversation earlier didn't lend well to sleeping anyway.

"So," Eric said as they stood in the shallow end of the pool where the water came up only to the middle of Sookie's chest, "these are the best tools you have for swimming."

She looked to where he was looking. "My boobs?" she asked incredulously.

He laughed heartily. "Well—maybe those too, but I was thinking about your lungs."

She giggled. "Well—I have read that breasts float."

Laughing until he snorted again—which again surprised them both—he leaned in and kissed her nose playfully.

"You're a snorter when you laugh," she grinned.

"I guess I am," he smiled. "I never knew before." He leaned forward and kissed her lips—lightly at first, but then with some urgency.

"So—my lungs?" she asked, trying to get him back on topic as she took a step backwards in the pool. However, he reached his long arms out for her, his wet fingers brushing the sides of her breasts through the T-shirt she was wearing over her bra.

"You know—it's probably more difficult for me to concentrate with you in that T-shirt than if you were just wearing your bra," Eric said, his eyes locked on her breasts.

She gave a little snort of her own. "I am not going to have sex with you in this pool, Eric Northman."

He looked a little hurt. "Why not?"

She giggled. "Because there are three cameras around this room."

"I'm sure the guards would be happy for the show," he said jokingly, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

She laughed a little harder and hit his bare chest playfully.

"You know," he said with a devilish grin, "right now you look like the star of the hottest wet T-shirt contest ever. Trust me when I say that if any of the guards are watching, they will be turned on more by that than they will by the bra underneath."

"But what if it's Henry watching?" she challenged.

"Well—he won't be turned on at all," Eric chuckled.

"Oh, I think he would be," she said, looking down at his Speedo, which—due to his height—was submerged just below the surface of the water. "Do you always swim in one of those?" she asked a little haltingly as she checked out the obvious bulge in his swimsuit. Even unaroused, Eric's size was impressive, especially when confined in a package that left nothing to the imagination.

He grinned. "I prefer to swim nude."

She popped his chest again. "You are so bad."

He shrugged. "I swim laps here, and a Speedo is better for that. However, I wear regular swim trunks when I'm swimming for pleasure—like when I visit my mormor in Sweden. She lives next to a lake." His mischievous grin was back. "But I do swim in the buff when I'm there too. In the mornings, I swim laps in the cove next to the little lake house I stay at. Since there's no one around, a swim suit seems superfluous—don't you agree?"

Sookie blushed a little at the thought of Eric swimming nude. Oh course, she'd been prone to blushing ever since she saw him in the Speedo.

"So?" he asked.

"So?" she repeated, drawing her eyes up from his midriff to his face.

"The T-shirt?"

"Do you always get what you want?" she asked playfully.

His face clouded, and she reached out and flattened her palm against his heart.

"Sorry," she said, knowing that his thoughts had just moved to his father.

"No," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. Sometimes, I just can't help thinking about things." He took a breath.

She bit her lip and moved a little closer to him in the water. "It's nice to get what you really want for a change," she remarked.

"It is," he agreed.

She smiled at him and took off her T-shirt before throwing it to the side of the pool.

If the stretch in his Speedo was any indication, he clearly appreciated the image of her cleavage poking out of the water.

"I thought you said that would help," she said coyly.

"I lied," he chuckled.

"I must say that your recovery time is truly impressive, Mr. Northman," she said, sneaking another peak downward.

"Your floatation devices are impressive too," he leered, closing the distance between them and taking her into his arms before kissing her deeply.

"No sex in the pool," she panted when he finally pulled back.

"Just trying to teach you how to hold your breath," he grinned.

She shook her head with mock disapproval, but inwardly she was happy to bask in his playfulness. "Focus!" she said, snapping her fingers sloppily just out of the water. "How do I swim?"

"Well," he responded, his demeanor immediately changing to become more serious, "first, you learn how to stay afloat, so that if you ever get tired while swimming or if you get scared, you know that all you have to do is to stop and float until you are ready to swim again." He smiled. "Floating is easy once you do it."

"Will you show me?"

He nodded. "Okay, I want you to lie down in the water—face up, of course," he winked. "I'll put one of my hands under your head and one under your waist. Then I want you to just take deep breaths and feel how your body wants to float naturally—how it wants to be at the top of the water."

Sookie looked a little nervous at the prospect of lying back into the warmed water.

"See?" he asked in a gentle tone, as he bent down a little, laid one of his long arms on the surface of the water, and spread his fingers. He relaxed his arm, and Sookie could see that it was floating. She copied his movements.

"Cool," she said when she felt the water pushing up on her body from below.

"It is," he agreed with a smile. "Think about all the parts of your body doing this," he said in the direction of his arm. "And then practice taking in deep breaths. Every time your lungs fill with air, you'll feel yourself rising up in the water a little. You don't even have to move to float. All you have to do is relax and let your body do what it wants to do."

"Okay."

"Ready?" he asked.

"You'll keep my head above the water?" she questioned nervously.

"Yes I will," he promised. "Until you're ready to do it yourself."

She nodded and lay back a little awkwardly into the water. But she relaxed as soon as she felt one of his strong hands cradling her head.

"Let your legs just rise up," he said calmly. "Remember—they want to."

Sookie nodded again and felt herself relax as her body rose through the water. She could feel Eric's other arm supporting her back and then her bottom as she went from vertical to horizontal in the water.

"Good," he smiled. "Now just breathe and become aware of what your body is doing."

"Okay," she said.

"Close your eyes, Sookie," he said softly.

She did and began to feel her body floating. With every deep inhalation, she became more and more aware of her buoyancy. And she was less and less nervous. Eric was right. Her body wanted to float; it just never had before.

"You can use your arms for balance and to move a little," he said above her. "Keep your movements slow and smooth."

She nodded, and, without opening her eyes, she moved her arms just a little. Eric's touch was lessening as her body began to do most of the work of staying above the water, but she could still feel them below her—waiting in case she sank. But she didn't.

"Trust me," he requested with no hint of questioning in his voice.

"I do."

"You won't sink," he said before he slowly moved his hands away.

She didn't.


	45. The Letter

Chapter 45: The Letter

After Eric had taught Sookie how to float, he'd instructed her to just move in the water in the way that felt most natural to her. And—always—he'd been next to her, though he'd never had to keep her from sinking.

Sookie—as it turned out—had been able to keep her own head above the water.

After their lesson was over, Eric had triumphantly proclaimed that she had a natural frog kick. Smiling proudly, he told her that he'd teach her how to hold her breath under water and to do the basic breaststroke during their next lesson.

After they'd gotten back home, they'd sat at Eric's laptop and ordered some goggles, a one-piece swimsuit, and a swim-cap for her. Although the bikini that Sookie already owned would be good for lying out in the sun, the one-piece would be better for swimming laps, which Sookie wanted to start doing for exercise. Eric suggested the goggles since the chlorine level in the pool was pretty high. He generally wore a pair when he was doing laps too. He also ordered her a kick board so that she could better learn various "kicking" techniques.

That done, they'd had a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast before showering and going to Eric's office.

Now sitting on the comfortable black leather couch, Sookie watched as Eric retrieved a worn-looking folder from his desk. There were questions in her eyes, but she didn't ask them. When he handed her a folded document, she opened it and read.

Silently, Eric sat down next to her on the couch. He had no need to look at the letter itself; he'd memorized it long ago.

Sookie's eyebrows furrowed as she reached out automatically for him. His hand had already been waiting for hers, and he welcomed the comforting feeling of their entwined fingers.

Sookie's skin was still a bit puckered from their time in the pool as well as their recent shower. Eric closed his eyes and let his mind drift a little—back to the water and the peace of the pool. He'd always loved the water—just for that reason. It gave him a sense of peace.

When he was in the pool watching Sookie learning to float, Eric couldn't help but to wonder what being deaf had been like for her. She'd told him a little about it. He knew that she'd been in pain a lot, and getting water in her ears had exacerbated that pain, which was one of the reasons why she'd never learned to swim before.

But as she'd floated right above his protective arms, she'd not been in any pain. On the contrary, she'd been discovering her body's power. The serenity in her face had been a lovely sight to behold as she'd become more and more confident.

The water had always offered Eric a similar serenity—ironically because it distorted the sounds of the world outside of it. Ever since he'd learned to swim at school, he'd loved the way that everything else would just disappear when his body was cutting through the water in long strokes. He especially loved swimming in the lake by his mormor's home. The lake was so big that good-sized waves would lap over him and remove him completely from the world, and he would swim and swim—until his arms felt like rubber, until he would almost sink.

He opened his eyes and looked at Sookie. He realized that he no longer felt the urge to remove himself from the world—not as long as she was a part of it.

Feeling increasingly dazed, Sookie had read the letter in her hands several times. It had been written on Northman Publishing letterhead, specifically on the letterhead of Appius Northman. The script was angled and narrow; Sookie marveled at how even Appius's handwriting seemed severe and harsh, though it was also precise.

Unable to tear her eyes from it, she reread the letter. It was dated April 30, 2007—a little more than five years before.

To: Eric Northman

From: Appius Northman

As much as I wanted otherwise, it has been proven that you are my offspring, so it seems that we must renegotiate the terms of our relationship. Your insolence when I made certain requests of you in person was intolerable. Although I would like nothing more than for you to leave Northman Publishing and New York, as you indicated you were planning to do during our last meeting, I believe that you will revise that notion upon reading this letter, which you should consider the opening of contract negotiations between you and me.

You impertinently pointed out during our last meeting that you had business acumen to survive on your own in the publishing world. For your own good, you need to put some of your so-called skills into practice and recognize that you have no other recourse besides negotiation.

First, here are the terms with which I require your compliance:

You will stay in New York and continue working at NP.

You will continue in your role as Deputy CEO until you are thirty-five. In that role, you will no longer oversee the international division. You will do whatever jobs I wish as you are groomed to be fit to run NP.

On your thirty-fifth birthday, you will be given the title of CEO; however, you will be required to report all of your plans and actions to me at the end of each working day. An appointee of my choosing will act as liaison between us. Should you plan to do anything that my appointee or I do not agree with, you will adapt your plans immediately. You will hold the position of CEO for as long as I deem necessary, and you will be terminated without notice when I see fit. If you outlive me, an appointee of my choosing will determine the time of your termination.

You will be required to have quarterly meetings with me—to justify your actions at NP and receive further instructions.

You will marry whomever I choose, whenever I choose.

You will produce Northman heirs either naturally or through adoption. These children will be sent to a boarding school of my choosing and will spend their summers in my home.

Once you are married, your wife and children will be required to participate in all family functions. Your presence will not be required unless explicitly requested.

Second, here are the incentives that I will agree to if you comply:

The international division of NP will remain open, though it will be run by someone of my choosing. The Larsson Publishing employees you hired and other members of "your" team will be allowed to stay on.

You will receive a salary congruent with the average for Deputy CEOs and—once you are thirty-five—CEOs in the publishing industry. This salary will be reevaluated at the end of every two years.

You will be allowed to maintain limited contact with my other children.

Should you prove competent as CEO, the reports submitted to me will move from a daily timeframe to a weekly one. Should you continue to do adequate work, they will move to monthly reports only. The frequency of reports will be determined by my appointee or me.

At the end of your term as CEO, you will be granted full access to your trust fund; however, you must forfeit any stock you own in NP at that time.

Should you wish to offer a counter-proposal, you may do so. However, the items outlined above will be the basis of our contract—and our relationship—from this point on. If you fail to comply, I will be unable to prevent the following items from being set into motion:

All employees originally from Larsson Publishing as well as all other employees in the international division of NP will be laid off due to budgetary constraints as NP eliminates the international division. Unfortunately, the economy does not lend to the growth of the company at this time.

This cut-back will—unfortunately—result in Elsa Larsson losing her yearly income.

Pamela Northman will not be offered employment at NP after her graduation as was previously planned. Her academic record—unfortunately—does not merit a position at NP.

All contact between you and all of my children (current or future) below the age of eighteen will be prohibited, for I fear that you may try to influence them negatively.

Marnie Stonebrook—with whom you had sexual relations last month though she was only a minor of seventeen at the time—is considering whether or not to report the crime of statutory rape to the police. Miss Stonebrook, I have been told, is prepared to cooperate fully with the authorities on this matter—should she decide to pursue it. Unfortunately, photographic and video evidence of your encounter with this minor is available should it be needed to support the girl's claims. As your father, I cannot condone your behavior with Miss Stonebrook; thus, I will be forced to do all I can to help the authorities if Miss Stonebrook chooses to press charges.

Should you decide not to accept the offer of employment at NP, you will be cut off from the Northman family and its fortune completely. Given that it was meant to aid in your running of NP, your trust fund will not come into your possession for as long as I am alive, and it will be left in the control of my appointee after my death.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure if I can prevent your dead mother from being disgraced in the Press unless I have your continued help in the matter. The evidence of her affair could be leaked to the tabloids if we do not vigilantly keep it out of the hands of those who might wish to soil her memory.

There is a lien on Peder Lang's property in Norway. He currently has an arrangement with a bank and is paying off this lien in installments; however, as the new controlling shareholder of said bank, I feel it is fair to institute the reevaluation of all such payment arrangements.

It will be made public knowledge that Godric Burnham, recently retired Headmaster of Murray Academy, is in a homosexual relationship. Rumors of his having molested unnamed male students will be leaked to the press along with this knowledge. Your name will, unfortunately, be among those included in the leak. Of course, as a concerned father, I will have to share with authorities a tape of an encounter with Godric that I had December 24, 2000. During that meeting, Godric expressed his affection for you, demanded that I give you $40,000, and threatened me with violence. Only after that extortion did I discover that Mr. Burnham had been taking you into his private residence—without my permission—for years during school holidays. Only after that did I find out that his reports to me concerning your progress at the school had been falsified. Of course, my natural assumption—given these facts—is that Mr. Burnham insinuated himself into your life in order to victimize you.

As I indicated above, if you and I make an arrangement, I will be able to help prevent the eventualities outlined above from happening. And—given the fact that your mother was duplicitous in our relationship—my giving you the opportunity to become CEO or to have any position at NP is generous. It is my wish that establishing a binding contract will define the relationship which I feel obligated to pursue with you now that I have learned you share my DNA. Your response to this proposal is requested within one week's time. In the meantime, you will be on paid leave from NP.

"Oh my God," Sookie said, finally able to rip her eyes from the offending document in her hand.

Eric sighed, his eyes focusing on the paper Sookie held. "In that single letter, Appius managed to threaten everything and everyone I'd allowed myself to care about. When I received it, I wrote down the names of all the people that would be hurt if I didn't comply with his demands."

Eric reached into the file folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He handed it to Sookie. Listed in Eric's neat script were many names—some of which she recognized. The list, which took up both sides of the sheet, had obviously been edited over the years—given the different ink colors used to compose it and the fact that some of the names had been crossed out. Beside quite a few of the names were notes, such as "He has three children" and "She takes care of an elderly parent" and "Daughter in college."

"There were originally seventy-three names," Eric said, his voice eerily quiet. "My mormor, Pam, Godric, Bobby, Peder, my mother, and the sixty-seven people who would have lost their jobs—from the executives in my division down to the clerks." He inhaled and exhaled deeply. "And—as my division has grown—more and more names get added. It's up to a hundred and four, and that doesn't even count their families. He pointed to one of the names."

"June Henderson," Sookie read.

Eric nodded. "She just learned that her one-year-old is autistic. I haven't written that down yet."

Sookie took in the expression on Eric's face, and she realized that the heaviness that seemed to be an inherent part of him stemmed from the fact that he felt personally responsible for every name on the list, as well as for all of those who relied upon the people on the list. But there was a name missing.

"Your name isn't written on this piece of paper," she whispered.

Eric shrugged, "Nor will it ever be. It doesn't matter."

Large teardrops escaped Sookie's eyes, and she accepted the handkerchief that Eric pulled out of his pocket.

"You matter," she said.

He shook his head a little, but neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"Godric didn't?" Sookie started and then shook her head and answered her own unfinished question. "No—of course not."

Eric squeezed her hand. "Godric was gay. That part is true—though I didn't find that out until after I got this letter. Bobby told me then." Eric sighed. "Godric married Bobby's mother when they were both young—and when he was still uncertain about his sexuality. According to Bobby, he and his wife were both miserable in the marriage. A couple of years after Bobby was born, they divorced. She remarried and moved to Montana, where she still lives. That's why Bobby was only around for holidays—until he decided to attend college at NYU. He lived with his mom most of the time."

Sookie nodded.

"According to Bobby, Godric was in a long-term relationship with a guy named Milton. I met him a few times—when I spent Thanksgivings with Bobby and Godric—but I think he was away for work a lot, and I had no idea he and Godric were romantically involved. And he certainly didn't live at the school with Godric. Milton was a consultant of some kind, I think. But I didn't talk to him much." Eric shook his head. "Of course—even when I first read this letter—I knew that Godric could never have molested anyone, but I soon realized that Appius would be able to use his power to feed rumors that would likely destroy Godric's reputation—even if he were eventually exonerated." Eric took a deep breath. "And Godric was fighting pancreatic cancer at the time. I didn't want Godric's life to be put in turmoil when it was hanging in the balance." He ran his hand through his hair. "Godric did so much for me; protecting him was the least I could do in return." Eric's eyes became misty. "He died only a month after Appius gave me this letter."

"I'm sorry," Sookie said squeezing Eric's hand.

He offered her a little smile that didn't go any further than his lips. "The girl—Marnie. I had slept with her, but she looked to be in her early twenties, and she had told me that she was twenty-three and a senior at NYU. I had no idea she was just 17, but it wouldn't have mattered much that I didn't know. I would have still been arrested—losing all of my credibility—even if I didn't end up in prison."

"Your father arranged for her—didn't he?" Sookie posited.

"Probably," Eric said with a shrug. "I'm almost certain that he put Marnie in my path and instructed her to seduce me, but it would have been impossible to prove that. And there had been so many other young women in my life that I became worried that Appius had set me up other times too. I was more careful after that—of course—but the damage was already done."

Sookie shook her head. "And Appius would have let you go to prison without remorse."

Eric nodded. "Yes. But I was more worried about Pam, Mormor, and all those employees. And Godric and Peder, of course. And Bobby."

"So you obviously went back to Appius with a counter-proposal," Sookie observed. "I mean—you run the international division, and Appius's initial intention was obviously to take it away from you."

"Yeah—Appius knew that I would make a counter-offer," Eric stated. "Ironically, he recognized that I was too good at business not to. That's why he started his proposal at the extreme—knowing that I would have to accept much of what he wanted, but also wanting to see what I'd be willing to give up in order to change the conditions he set out with." He chuckled cheerlessly. "The negotiations were likely quite amusing for him.

"Why did Appius want you to stay in New York if he hated you so much?" Sookie asked.

Eric shrugged. "I may never know everything that drives him. But I think the main thing is to keep control over me—to keep me from being happy. To make me suffer."

Sookie wiped another surge of tears from her eyes. "Appius makes my mother look like Mother Theresa."

Eric shook his head. "No. I think they're basically the same. The only difference between them is that my father has more money and power to make my pain last longer. But, other than that, they are two of a kind."

"I have never wanted to kill anyone before—not even my mother, but," Sookie stopped.

"I know," Eric said softly. "Sometimes I wish it were in me to kill him, but it's not." He sighed. "It was hard enough to keep Bobby from arranging Appius's death after he learned of this letter. But—God help me—a part of me still wants my father's acceptance. A part of me still thinks that if I just prove myself enough times, then he'll at least learn not to despise me."

Sookie closed her eyes. "I think about that too sometimes—with my mom."

"We're so fucked up," he said with a little laugh that sounded half like a sob.

"We really are," she agreed.

"The actual contract didn't end up being this bad," Eric said as he took the letter and folded it up, placing it back into the file with the list of names. "I thought about trying to take the letter to the cops. After all, it is blackmail, but the wording of everything is crafty—just as one would expect from Appius. And there is no evidence that he intended to do anything illegal. There is just evidence that he knew about certain things—or that he would refrain from offering his help with certain things."

Eric sighed. "Taking the letter to the press was the better option—to prove what a bastard Appius is—but I knew that I'd drag Godric and my mother down with me. And then there were the people at NP to consider. Plus, I knew that Neave and Lochlan would twist things however my father wanted. After all, the only actual crime explicitly referred to in that letter was oneI did commit against Marnie Stonebrook—unintentional though it was. And—as I said—it would have been impossible to prove that Appius set that up."

Sookie sighed. "So—what did you do after you got this letter?"

Eric ran his hand through his hair. "I moved out of the apartment at Northman Tower that I'd been staying at. I took what few possessions I had and went to a hotel—in a not-so-good part of the city. However, since there was a liquor store next door, I thought it was perfect. I bought copious amounts of alcohol. And, for several days, I buried myself in a bottle. I didn't leave the hotel room and only ordered food when I was forced to put something into my stomach other than bourbon. Bobby got worried about me when I didn't meet up with him and Godric—as I had been doing for Godric's weekly chemotherapy treatments. Somehow—I never asked precisely how—Bobby found out where I was staying and bribed the maid to let him into my room. He found me passed out with Appius's letter in my hand."

He sighed. "I woke up in the shower with Bobby dousing me off. He'd ordered coffee and food. He'd read the letter."

"What did he do?" Sookie asked.

Eric closed his eyes. "Even before he saw the letter, Bobby had guessed that Appius wasn't father of the year, but the letter gave him an insight into my and Appius's relationship that no one else had ever gotten before." He opened his eyes and looked out the window. The air was clear and the sky bright with early morning light. He sighed. "As I may have suggested before, Bobby's got some questionable connections. When I was sober and had eaten, he outlined how he planned to get one of them to kill Appius."

"But you didn't let him," she observed.

Eric shook his head. "I told Bobby that it wouldn't do any good—that Appius had most likely set things up so that hell would be unleashed if he died. I was positive that—if something happened to him—his lawyers would leak any 'so-called' evidence against Godric, as well as the video evidence of me and Marnie Stonebrook." He sighed. "I knew that there was nothing to be done—except what Appius wanted. I knew that I'd have to make the deal with him. To be honest, I felt so low—so hopeless—that I almost agreed to all of my father's conditions as he'd originally made them."

"But Bobby stopped you."

"Yes. It was the part about my future children that he used to convince me to fight—at least for something."

Sookie squeezed Eric's hand, and the two were quiet for a few minutes.

Eric finally spoke again. "As would be expected, Bobby was furious after he read the letter, especially the part threatening his dad. He told me that Godric would be the first one to tell Appius to go fuck himself. Bobby tried to convince me to fight Appius—to take the letter to anyone who would read it—come what may."

"But you didn't."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm ashamed to say that I didn't have a lot of fight in me at the time. I didn't want to see other people get hurt. And—once Bobby and I talked about it for a while—he agreed that I wouldn't be able to prevent most of my father's threats from coming to fruition. So," Eric sighed, "I decided that I needed to try to make the best of things."

"And Bobby helped."

"Yes. He's a lawyer—though he doesn't have a practice. He helped me to draft a contract that would be more palatable than what Appius had outlined in the letter." He inhaled deeply. "And on the last day that Appius gave me to respond to his letter, I met with him with the counterproposal. Bobby insisted upon going with me."

"What did you propose?" Sookie asked.

"First, although I agreed to stay on at NP, I refused to give up the international division. In fact, I demanded full autonomy over it. I also refused to be a dog on a leash to Appius—someone in need of 'grooming,'" Eric said bitterly.

"Second, I agreed to take over as CEO when I turned 35, but I refused to submit reports to Appius more often than quarterly. And I refused to accept any appointee of Appius's looking over my shoulder all the time—unless the profit margins at NP dropped substantially. I agreed that Appius could terminate me any time he wanted—as long as I had six months' notice and he agreed to do nothing to tarnish my reputation or to undermine my operation of the company while I was CEO. I agreed that I would sell the NP stock after my tenure in exchange for the trust fund.

"Of my marriage and children, I told him to fuck himself," Eric said resentfully.

"I agreed to his salary provisions. I also promised not to challenge his Will, which I could do since I'm his child and will most certainly be left out of it.

"I agreed to be in his presence only once a year, but—again—I made clear that any wife and children I had would be none of his concern and that his interaction with them would be unwelcome.

"I asked for all the evidence he had—both the real and the manufactured stuff—that pertained to Marnie Stonebrook, Godric, and my mother.

"I asked that my mormor's yearly allowance be moved to a trust in my name. After her death, I agreed that anything left over in the trust would revert to Appius, but I insisted that her income not be threatened again during her lifetime.

"Finally, I asked for assurances that the international division be kept salient and that my team and the original Larsson employees would not be laid off due to downsizing."

"Appius obviously didn't accept all of that," Sookie observed.

Eric shook his head. "No. But we eventually got to this." He pulled out one more document from the file folder—this one thicker and obviously an official contract.

He handed it to Sookie. "This is the contract. The terms begin on the third page."


	46. The Contract

Chapter 46: The Contract

Sookie nodded and flipped to the third page of the document. She read aloud, her voice shaking a little since she knew that the heavy-weight paper in her hands held Eric's fate.

Her fate too.

"Clause one: Eric Northman will continue his employment at Northman Publishing in the capacity of Deputy CEO until his thirty-fifth birthday. Salary will be determined by the industry average and will be reconfigured every two years. In his capacity as Deputy CEO, E. Northman will have autonomy over the international division of Northman Publishing, including its staffing; however, he must submit weekly status reports to the CEO of Northman Publishing, Appius Northman, and consider all revisions offered by the same."

"Clause two: In the role of Deputy CEO, Eric Northman will be required to attend all major department meetings of Northman Publishing and submit reports to Appius Northman."

Sookie stopped reading and looked up at Eric. "So you got to keep your division and your people."

He smiled a little. "Yeah. Most of the original Larsson employees are either on my team or have moved on from NP." He sighed. "Secretly, I let the few whom I couldn't move to my division know that there could be lay-offs at any time, and they have sought positions either here or back in Sweden."

"And the other meetings you have to attend?" Sookie asked.

"Actually, they're not so bad," he answered with a shrug, "though writing the reports is tedious. However, by attending them, I've come to understand pretty much every facet of the company—from graphics to janitorial services." He chuckled. "And all that will help me when I become CEO."

She nodded and read on.

"Clause three: Eric Northman will be made CEO of Northman Publishing on his thirty-fifth birthday. Salary will be determined by the industry average and will be reconfigured every two years. The term of employment will be at the sole discretion of Appius Northman or an agent appointed by him—as long as a notice of one month is given before termination of employment. E. Northman forfeits his right to resign his position within the first twenty years of service and will have no say in who becomes the subsequent CEO of Northman Publishing. No severance or retirement package will be given. After his term as CEO is completed, E. Northman will receive his trust fund. In addition, on the day E. Northman's tenure as CEO ends, he will be required to sell all his remaining Northman Publishing stock, inherited from John Northman, to Appius Northman or his agent at fifty percent of the market value. E. Northman also agrees to forfeit the right to inherit any portion of NP through A. Northman's estate."

Sookie stopped and looked at Eric again. "So Appius can basically fire you any time he wants—for any reason."

Eric nodded. "I hope he does. But I'm not counting on it. However, I will resign when I'm fifty-five."

"And then you'll get your trust fund."

"Yes," Eric said, "but I will have to give up my NP stock from my grandfather." He smiled ruefully. "I hate that—you know. But it will be better to cut ties. And—between selling the NP stock and getting my trust fund—I will have enough to live on and to support my family."

Sookie nodded and looked back at the document. "Clause four," she read, "Eric Northman cannot change the employment status or previously negotiated income package for Nora Gainesborough during his tenure as CEO.

"Clause five: As CEO, Eric Northman must submit quarterly reports to Appius Northman or an agent of A. Northman's choosing (in the case of A. Northman's death). If the profit margin of Northman Publishing does not grow by 2% within any six-quarter period, the decision-making powers of CEO will be transferred to Appius Northman or his appointee for the term of one year, at which time they will transfer back to E. Northman. During any such punitive period, E. Northman will remain CEO in title; however, his annual salary will be cut by 50%, and he will be subject to the orders of the acting CEO. In addition, E. Northman is required to meet with A. Northman or his appointee one time per year—on December 25—to discuss the yearly progress of Northman Publishing."

Sookie looked over at Eric; his eyes were bright with both unshed tears and determination.

"So," he said, "if I can do it—if I can really run NP well, like I think I can—then I'll retain control while I'm CEO. And I think I can," he said hopefully.

She smiled a little. "I know you will."

"And I'm sure that Appius, Jr. will be the official heir of NP. Or maybe—after I resign—Nora or Pam or Gracie will take over until he's ready." Eric sighed. "So—you see—like Appius says, I'm only a 'place-holder,' but that's okay." He smiled genuinely. "I going to build up the company for the people that work there and for my brothers and sisters—especially for A.J. And I'll advise him when he's first starting out—if that's what he wants."

"You're a good brother, Eric," Sookie said softly.

"I try to be," he replied softly—sadly. "Just because Appius never wanted me to be a part of the rest of them doesn't mean that I don't want to be. Even if I don't get to spend much time with my younger siblings, I can make sure that NP is still going strong when they come of age—make sure that their legacy is strong"

"And after your term is over? You have to sell your NP stock?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"But—that's your legacy. It's not fair."

"Maybe not—be I'll be free of him then."

"Yes," she whispered, though she wasn't quite sure she believed that Appius would ever allow Eric to be truly free. "Meanwhile, you'll have to endure submitting reports and going to the yearly meetings," she said sorrowfully, as she recalled Eric's feelings about his meetings with Appius when he was a child.

He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "Most CEOs have to submit quarterly reports anyway, so that's no big deal. And the contract says that I just have to submit the reports—not that I have to follow any advice given by Appius. As long as I keep the company's bottom line growing, he won't get a say in how I'm running it." He paused. "And the meetings will happen only once a year," he continued, as he seemingly steeled himself. "That's much less than I have to deal with him now."

"What if Appius tries to disrupt the things you try to do—so that you can't succeed in increasing the profits? I wouldn't put that past him."

"Read on," Eric said, gesturing toward the document.

Sookie took a deep breath. "Clause six: Appius Northman agrees not to interfere with any of the workings—foreign or domestic—of Northman Publishing during Eric Northman's tenure as CEO, as long as the conditions of clause five are met. In addition, any confirmed acts of sabotage on the part of A. Northman or those in his employment (paid or not) will be met with the immediate revocation of this document and the following corollaries: 1.) A. Northman must forfeit all of his AP stock to E. Northman; 2.) E. Northman will be made permanent CEO of Northman Publishing until he chooses to resign; 3.) E. Northman will determine his own successor as CEO and may choose anyone, as long as he or she is a child or grandchild of A. Northman (including any child of E. Northman)."

Sookie looked up at Eric. "So if he's caught interfering, he loses control and he loses his stock?"

"After I become CEO—yes," Eric confirmed. "As you've seen, he has no compunction about interfering with the things I'm doing now when it amuses him."

Sookie nodded, remembering what Eric had said about Appius's previous acts of sabotage—all of them consequences of Eric ignoring Appius's inane "advice." To Sookie, those acts made Appius seem not only childish but also more dangerous. The fact that he'd hurt his own company to emasculate Eric made her apprehensive. She sighed. It was no wonder that Eric had felt "safer" once the contract was in place. She still didn't trust Appius, but—at least—the contract had facets that were designed to protect Eric.

Eric laughed a little, breaking Sookie from her musings. "That clause was all Bobby's idea. Without his prodding, I wouldn't have had the balls to put a protection clause into the contract. You should have seen Appius's face when he first read it."

Sookie smiled. "I can't wait to meet Bobby."

Eric leaned forward and lightly kissed her lips. "He can't wait to meet you either—officially, at least." He frowned a little.

"What?" Sookie asked.

"Keep reading."

She looked back at the contract.

"Clause seven: Eric Northman is to marry on or before his thirty-fifth birthday. The choice of wife will be determined by E. Northman, but that choice must be congruent to the following conditions: 1.) The prospective spouse must be from a family whose income places that family in the upper 1% for gross annual income in the United States (or be of equivalent value if the woman is from another country); 2.) The prospective spouse must be from a family of acceptable reputation (as determined by the Social Register, Burke's Peerage & Landed Gentry, or Appius Northman); 3.) The prospective spouse must be in the position to inherit at least 25% of her familial estate; 4.) The marriage must last at least through E. Northman's tenure as CEO (unless the woman dies of natural causes or from injuries sustained in an accident)."

Despite her voice trembling, Sookie read the next short clause. "Clause eight: Should Eric Northman not be married by 11:59 p.m. on his thirty-fifth birthday, Appius Northman or his agent may select E. Northman's wife according to any set of qualifications A. Northman determines."

Eric spoke as if in agony. "I never thought I'd meet anyone who would love me," he explained sincerely. "I truly didn't think it would matter who I married—so long as I could choose someone I could tolerate."

Her heart broke from seeing the pain and the guilt in his eyes.

She sighed. "It's good that you have some choice," she said quietly, "in whom you pick."

He nodded.

"And you're trying to make an arrangement with Isabel?" she asked.

Eric nodded again.

"Will she marry you?" Sookie asked.

"I think so," he responded.

"And if not?"

He sighed. "I know others who might make an arrangement with me. Some would jump at the chance. But I'd rather it be someone I could be friends with."

"And you considered Nora at one point?"

He nodded. "For a while—when she became infatuated with me and Appius basically ordered me to date her." He dragged his hand through his hair. "Though we have a somewhat odd relationship, I consider Nora a friend—though I don't trust her fully. And, in a lot of ways, it would have been easier if I could have made things work with her. If I were with Nora, maybe," he stopped and shook his head.

"If you were with her, maybe Appius would approve of you more?"

He nodded again. "I never should have dated her—let alone try to be physical with her—since the whole idea of dating my own stepsister freaked me out. But Nora can be insistent." He closed his eyes tightly. "And she kept telling me that it would please him."

Sookie leaned forward and kissed Eric lightly on the cheek. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

She smiled a little. "It's okay. I get it. You and I are both fucked up when it comes to wanting the approval of our parents—remember?"

He smiled back, though it didn't reach his pain-filled eyes. "Thanks."

She looked down at the contract and turned to the next page so that she could continue reading.

"Clause nine: Within five years of marriage, Eric Northman must produce a child or children—either biologically or through adoption—with his wife. Any children of E. Northman will be educated and housed according to E. Northman and his wife's wishes. Appius Northman will be allowed to keep the children for one month during summers as long as he adheres to the following: 1.) A. Northman must care for the child/children in the same manner as he would any other grandchildren; 2.) A. Northman must allow the child/children weekly visits with E. Northman; 3.) A. Northman must allow the child's/children's mother (or a nanny hired by E. Northman) to stay in the residence with the child/children at any and/or all times during the visit."

Confused, Sookie shook her head. "Why does Appius want access to your children, Eric?" she asked with concern.

He shrugged, his face a picture of distress. "I can't know for sure. At first, I thought that it was so that he could do to them what he did to me. But now I think it's to get them to love him. Maybe he thinks that he can make them prefer him to me." He sighed. "The best I could do on this issue was to mitigate the original proposal Appius made. I hope," Eric paused. "I pray that his aim is just to try to undermine me or to make them love him more. If that's true, then I'm his target—not them. Either way," he once more dragged his hand through his hair, "Appius will have his chance to be a grandfather to my children, and I will never say anything against him to them unless he forces my hand. At least—the way the contract is structured—the woman I marry or a nanny can stay with the children when they are with him." He closed his eyes. "That's the best I could do and the last clause Appius agreed to. And it cost me."

"What did it cost?"

He looked at the contract. "Keep going. You'll find out."

Sookie nodded and then looked back at the contract. "Clause ten: Eric Northman will sign over one-half of the stock left to him by John Northman, his paternal grandfather, to Nora Gainesborough. The transfer of this stock must be initiated the day this contract is signed."

She looked up. "You already did this?"

"Yes."

"How much was half?"

"Grandfather John initially left me fourteen percent of the company; I signed seven percent over to Nora," he reported. "She now owns ten percent since Grandfather John had left her three percent already." He sighed. "That was the price I paid for making sure Appius didn't have too much influence on my children."

"Appius didn't ask for all of the stock?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. "He did ask for it all at first. Keeping half of it—which will give me some say in stockholder meetings once I'm CEO of the company—was why I agreed to allow the marriage and child visitation stipulations."

Eric opened his eyes and looked at Sookie as if begging. "So—you see—I'm the one at fault for the fact that we can't be together. I didn't know there would be a moment when I would regret that compromise more than anything else. I was just thinking about the fact that the remaining stock was really the only safeguard I had left—the only leverage." He shook his head. "I honestly didn't think it would matter whom I married. And—even with the children I might have—I built in a way to make sure that Appius couldn't abuse them. I was a fool," he said, his voice trailing off and his eyes lowering in shame.

"So—you never even considered the possibility that you would fall in love," she stated more than asked.

"No. And I certainly never thought that I would be loved in return," he added.

She closed her own eyes tightly.

"I did all this to us, Sookie," he said in agony.

"No you didn't," she returned forcefully, opening her eyes and raising his chin in order to let him see her sincerity. "Appius did all this to you—and to us. I don't blame you for any of it."

"You should."

"But I don't."

"You're too good to me," he whispered.

"Ditto," she averred before looking back at the contract, hoping that it wouldn't get any worse. "Clause eleven: This contract cannot be broken without penalty unless both Appius Northman and Eric Northman are in agreement. There is one exception to this condition. The contract may be broken by either party between the hours of 12:00 a.m. to 11:59 p.m. on Eric Northman's thirty-fifth birthday (see clause twelve for penalties in this case). The penalty for one party breaking the contract before or after the appointed date is ten billion dollars to be paid immediately. If the penalty cannot be paid, the party guilty of the breach of contract will immediately be brought up on charges of theft from Northman Publishing. The party must plead guilty to the charges and may not accept a plea bargain that does not include a prison sentence of at least one year. An unwillingness to comply with the penalty can be met with any consequences deemed appropriate by the aggrieved party, including (but not limited to) the forfeiture of NP stock and other property."

Sookie gasped, once again awed by such a large amount of money as well as by the repercussions if it couldn't be paid.

Eric chuckled ruefully. "As I said two nights ago, there's no way I could pay that penalty. And—I'm sure you can guess the things Appius would do if I did not."

She nodded. "What would happen if you broke the contract on your thirty-fifth birthday?"

"Read clause twelve," Eric whispered.

Sookie took a deep breath. "Clause twelve: Should Eric Northman break this contract on his thirty-fifth birthday, the following penalties will occur: 1.) His trust fund will revert irrevocably to Appius Northman or a person of his choosing; 2.) His remaining stock in Northman Publishing will revert immediately to Appius Northman or a person of his choosing; 3.) The international portion of Northman Publishing will be dissolved and all its employees let go; 4.) Elsa Larsson will lose her yearly stipend."

Seeing that there were only two more clauses, Sookie kept going, wanting to get the offending document away from her as soon as possible.

"Clause thirteen: Should Appius Northman break this contract on Eric Northman's thirty-fifth birthday, the following will occur: 1.) Appius Northman will cut all ties with Eric Northman, both personal and professional; 2.) Eric Northman's trust fund will be immediately transferred to his control; 3.) Elsa Larsson will immediately be given the amount of twenty times her yearly stipend; 4.) Eric Northman's NP stock will be surrendered to Appius Northman or someone of his choosing; 5.) All documents, video recordings, voice recordings, photographs, etc. (and all copies of said items) pertaining to Eric Northman in Appius Northman's possession will be immediately given to E. Northman."

Sookie inhaled quickly before she read the last clause. "Clause fourteen: All evidence (whether it be real or fabricated) relating to Godric Burnham will be given to Eric Northman immediately upon the signing of this contract. Furthermore, no slanderous accusations will be made against Godric Burnham by Appius Northman or anyone in his employ (paid or otherwise). The penalty for such will be the surrender of 10% of Northman Publishing to Bobby Burnham. Furthermore, the signing of this document indicates that A. Northman has no knowledge of Godric Burnham committing any criminal acts."

Sookie looked at Eric, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "Was that Bobby's idea?"

Eric shook his head. "No that one was all me."

She smiled a little wider before her expression fell into a worried frown. "What about the stuff concerning your mother? Or the Marnie Stonebrook stuff?" she asked.

"He's still hanging all that over my head," Eric said with a sigh. "I'm sure that those will be only some of his punishments if I break or breach the contract."

"So he's really trapped you," she said in a quiet voice.

Eric nodded. "Yes. But I never knew how much I was trapped until I met you." He sighed. "When I signed the contract, I was naïve enough to think that it was a good thing overall. With it, I was protecting Mormor and Pam and the others. And I will get to be CEO—almost completely on my own terms. And—at the time I signed this document—the thing I liked most was my work, and I knew that I could perform the job of CEO well. And without Appius's interference, I figured that I would even enjoy it."

"And your personal happiness?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I didn't really expect any. I didn't think I could feel much for anyone—at least not on a romantic level—so an arranged marriage seemed best anyway. Who did it matter who it was with—as long as I could prevent it from being with someone like Freyda de Castro?"

"And there was no way you could trust Appius, and the contract helped you to know where you stood," she added.

He sighed. "Yes. The contract used to be comforting to me. And," he paused, "I genuinely want for Northman Publishing to be a success, especially now that it carries Larsson within it. But now I wish I could burn every copy of that document." He gestured toward her hand.

"And after the term of the contract is over? After you get to resign?"

"I hope that I'll be free," Eric said. "I'll be 55 years old then. With any luck, I won't be too worn out—too worn down."

"And if I'm free then too?"

"I could never ask you to wait for me, Sookie. I want you to live—to thrive—after our time is over."

"And you?"

He exhaled. "I want to be a good father."

She smiled. "You will be."

"I hope so."

They were quiet for a while as she read over the remaining pages of the contract—the fine print so to speak. The ten pages that followed the basic clauses reiterated what she'd already read, simply going into more detail about how each clause was to be carried out.

"I still don't get why he would do all this," she remarked with a shake of her head once she was done reading. "He was ready to let you leave when he thought you were Peder's son."

Eric shook his head sadly. "Maybe, he felt trapped with me too—at least in a way. For better or worse, I'm the most competent in the family to take over. Pam is great at what she does, but she wouldn't be able to run the whole company without help—nor would she want to. And Nora never wanted to be CEO either." He exhaled deeply. "A lot of people are counting on me, but if I really thought Nora could run Northman Publishing, I would have tried to convince her to do it so that Appius didn't need me as a placeholder. However, Nora hasn't turned out to be the star Appius believes her to be; moreover, she doesn't want to be that star. I have had to step in quite a few times to keep her from costing the company a lot of money and jobs."

"And you've covered for her," Sookie observed.

He nodded. "Yes. Nora's not incompetent; she's just not capable enough to be the CFO of a company as large as Northman Publishing—let alone the CEO. I think—on some level—that Appius must know that. And the good thing is that Nora knows when she's in over her head, and she asks me for help before things get too bad. She also knows that I care about the company more than she does. And it's not as if she's totally unqualified. In most things, she does fine."

"But she hasn't told Appius that you help her."

"No," Eric confirmed. "And even if she did, it wouldn't matter. He would find excuses for her, or he would find a way to blame me, so it's better if things stay as they are. When I'm CEO, I'll hire someone to help her with things."

Sookie sighed and leaned into him a little. "Will he even let you be CEO, Eric? What if he breaks the contract on your thirty-fifth birthday?"

Eric sighed. "I hope he does. Maybe—like you said the other night—he's just been dangling the prospect that I will be CEO in my face. He could be toying with me now—just to nullify the contract at the last second. But," he paused, "like I said, he is trapped as much as I am—if he wants the CEO of NP to be a member of the family that will keep the company growing." Eric moved his arm so that it was around Sookie's shoulder. "Appius has seen that I'm good at my work, and the company is growing because of that work. He will—and has—threatened to make someone else CEO at the eleventh hour, but I think that's just to scare me and to keep me unsure about my future. However, it's clear that I'm his best choice for running the company—at least, until one of the other kids comes of age. And though he'd never admit it out loud, I'm a good choice. I'm good at what I do, and I prove that every day."

"Yes," Sookie agreed. She'd "heard" from many people's lips just how well-regarded Eric was at Northman Publishing.

Eric sighed. "You asked last night why I sometimes call Appius, 'Father,' and why I sometimes call him 'Appius'—remember?"

She nodded.

Unnoticed by him, a tear rolled down his cheek. Sookie put down the contract and picked up the handkerchief on her lap, before reaching up and wiping away the errant tear.

"For four hours," he said, "I sat next to a man who wanted to be my father, even though he didn't really think he was. For almost twenty years, Godric Burnham—the headmaster at the school I was shipped off to when I was five and a half years old—treated me more like I was his son than Appius Northman ever did." Another tear streamed down Eric's cheek; this time he brushed it away. "Within one month, I lost two fathers who wanted me, and I kept one that had always despised me. After that, my biological father became a man I didn't want to share blood with. I might still have to say 'Father' out loud with everyone else, but—with you—I feel free to say what I want to say. I'm still getting used to saying 'Appius' out loud, however, so sometimes I forget."

"My mother is Michelle in my head too," she said quietly.

He nodded, taking Sookie's hand in his. He pulled her onto his lap where they sat quietly for a while.

Eric was the one to break the silence. "Sookie?" Eric asked nervously.

"Yes?"

"I want to take you to Sweden with me when I go in July. I'll be gone for two weeks. I fly out the seventh and come back the twenty-second."

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "That's a lot of time away from work, and it's coming up in less than a month, but I'll ask Sam if he can spare me—at least for part of the time. I certainly have the vacation days saved up."

"Thank you," he said, kissing her hair. "I want Mormor to know you. And—uh—if you can come, I want to do something else too."

"What?"

"Gran," he said. "Would she fly to Sweden too? My mormor would—I think—like to get to know her as well. We could be a," he paused, as his voice broke a little, "family for a while. Pam is going a week earlier than I do, but will be there the first week I am."

"I don't know if Gran could afford it," Sookie said tentatively. "Since Grandpa Earl died, she's been on more of a fixed budget, especially after all of my medical expenses," she added guiltily.

Eric looked at her sincerely. "She wouldn't need to pay; she would just need to come."

Sookie bit her lip a little and looked up into Eric's eyes. She could tell that he was trying to give her the world in that moment—literally—and he was trying to people that world with those she loved most: her gran and him. A part of her wanted to resist him—to tell him that he shouldn't spend his money on her in any way. But his eyes told her that he didn't care about the money. What he wanted was to make her happy and to be happy himself.

Less than five percent of his life. Less than five percent of her life.

In that moment, she decided to make them both happy. "I'm sure she'll come, and I know Sam will give me the vacation time—though I might have to take some work with me."

Eric smiled like she'd just given him his heart's desire.

His expression broke her heart and put it back together at the same time. Steadying her emotions, Sookie got up, put the contract back into the file folder, and placed the folder on Eric's desk. That done, she held out her hand to him.

"Let's go to bed?" she asked.

He nodded, took her hand, and followed her to their room.


	47. Father's Day, Part 1

Chapter 47: Father's Day, Part 1

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was."—Anne Sexton

Sunday, June 17, 2012: Father's Day

June 17 had started out cloudy and muggy—the kind of day when the air seemed almost oppressive. It fit Eric's mood just right.

"You okay?" Sookie asked, wiggling her sock-covered feet on his lap to get his attention. They were enjoying their morning coffee and some scones on the terrace, despite the humidity in the air.

Eric tried to smile at her. "Ask me that tonight?"

"I will," Sookie said with a half-contented and half-worried sigh as Eric massaged her feet through her socks. "When do you have to be there?"

Eric frowned. "Brunch is at 11:00, and I'm to get there between 10:00 and 10:30."

"I'll miss you today," Sookie said softly.

"I'll miss you too—but it's only for a few hours," he said, clearly trying to make himself feel better about his unwelcome summons to Appius's house for the Father's Day brunch that Sophie-Anne insisted he attend.

"Right—only a few hours," she agreed.

"What gallery will you be going to?" he asked, his voice straining to sound a little lighter.

She shrugged. "I don't have my little jar with me, so I can't draw out a gallery number today; plus, it wouldn't feel right going to the MET without you—not now."

"Please go," Eric said, leaning forward a little and begging her with his eyes. "This day will go better for me if I know you're at the MET—and happy."

She couldn't deny him—not when he was looking at her like he was.

"Okay," she said.

His face immediately relaxed. "Maybe I can even get away in time to join you there this afternoon."

"If you can find me," she said playfully. "It is a big place—after all."

"Luckily I have someone on the inside," he grinned.

"I'm going to have to get Ben on my side," Sookie chuckled.

"He probably already is," Eric returned, running his hands over the soles of her feet. His expression turned serious. "So you'll go?"

She nodded. "I will, but I have no idea what gallery I'll go to," she mused. "Wait—no—I know exactly where I'll go."

"Where?"

"You'll just have to find me, Mr. Northman. It'll be like me trying to find you in this house."

He chuckled. Strangely enough, he'd never really thought about the size of his house until that week as he and Sookie had tried to find each other in it. Just two nights before, Eric had gotten home only five minutes before Sookie, but it had taken them about an hour to realize that they were both home because he'd been working in his office and she'd been in the kitchen.

He grinned. "I told you that I'd wear a bell around my neck if you wanted."

She giggled. "Don't tempt me."

He tickled the bottom of her feet.

"Hey—I thought you were going to be sweet," she said with a pout as she wiggled her feet, trying to escape his tickling.

"I forgot," he chuckled before his face fell a little.

Sookie reached out to grab his hand. "It's only 7:30. I say we take a bath."

"Are you trying to distract me, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"You bet your fine ass I am," she answered unapologetically.

"You know how much I want to be with you today—right?" Eric asked, concern suddenly filling his eyes.

"I know," she said softly. "But if you don't show up at Appius's house, he'll wonder why, and we don't want him wondering anything about you."

Eric nodded. He was quiet for a minute before his eyes went back to twinkling. "You think my ass is fine?"

"It's almost my favorite part of you," she said with an answering twinkle.

"Almost?"

She nodded.

"What's your favorite?"

"Keep rubbing my feet—nicely—and I just might tell you," she said as she wiggled her toes.

"I thought you wanted a bath," he reminded.

"I do, but that feels good."

He chuckled and kept up his rubbing. "Will you tell Ben that the sandwich shop will deliver as always?" Eric asked after a few comfortable minutes had passed. "They just need to call in the order by 10:30."

Sookie smiled and nodded. "Ben will appreciate that. It's nice that you want to keep sending them food."

"I like that Ben and the others are going to be keeping an eye on you when I can't," he said seriously. "You don't mind that—do you?"

"No. Not anymore. I don't mind you watching over me—either personally or through them," she said, surprising herself a little, especially considering the fact that she had been self-conscious about being watched for as long as she could remember.

"Good," he said with a smile.

"Is everything ready for tonight?" Sookie asked, suddenly nervous. Eric and she were going to be "outing" themselves to Pam at dinner that night.

"Yes," he reassured.

"Bobby is coming too—right?" Sookie asked.

"You just want him here to distract Pam," he said jokingly.

"Yes!" she answered immediately and unabashedly.

Eric chuckled. "You know—Pam and Bobby have a thing, though it's off and on. Pam doesn't think I know, but I do. They are what one might call friends with benefits."

"You told me that Bobby didn't really get along with anyone."

"Well—he's not that likeable," Eric grinned. "But he has that in common with Pam."

"You like Bobby," she reminded.

"Yeah—but I'm the only one."

"Not anymore," she challenged.

Eric smiled. "I still can't believe that you took to him so quickly."

"What?" she asked. "Bobby clearly has your back. And I like that about him."

"Yes, but he was a prick to you when he met you."

Sookie had to agree with that assessment. When Eric had invited Bobby over the Thursday before, he had been wary of her at first, but they'd warmed up to each other, and she'd found that she quite liked him. He certainly didn't pull any punches, but that was a relief, given the way she was normally treated, even by those whom she thought of as her friends. By the end of the evening, Bobby had even taken on the kind of brotherly air that he used with Eric when he talked to her.

Eric was frowning when she looked at him over her coffee mug.

"Just because I read from his lips that he thought I might be 'a gold-digging whore' doesn't make him a prick," she said.

"I still want to kick his ass for saying those words," Eric growled as he thought about what Bobby had whispered to him from across the room when he thought that Sookie couldn't "hear" them. Of course, she'd been able to read Bobby's lips, a fact which Bobby had conveniently "forgotten" about—or, at least, so he'd said. However, Eric wouldn't have put it past Bobby to say something like that on purpose—just to "test" Sookie.

"Yes, but you know that he's just trying to protect you. And it didn't take him long to come around," she reminded with a contented moan as he worked on the arch of her foot.

"Hmmm. If I didn't know better, I would be jealous," Eric commented jokingly. "You certainly charmed him."

Sookie grinned. "My snicker doodles charmed him."

He shook his head. "That's a ridiculous name for a cookie."

"But he loved them all the same."

"I loved them too," Eric said, looking at her meaningfully. He'd still not said the "L" word about their relationship, but he'd made a point of saying how much he loved things she did or made. Both of them knew that was the best he could offer her for now. And both of them accepted that.

"Who's gonna be there—at Appius's house?" Sookie asked. "Gracie?"

Eric smiled and nodded. "Yeah. And A.J. will be brought down for a while."

Sookie grinned at Eric. He'd told her that he was the only one who called Appius, Jr., A.J. He'd also shared that the one-year-old always wanted to be held by him when they were in the same room, which was pretty inexplicable given the fact that the toddler had hardly ever seen Eric.

"And Pam's gonna be there," Sookie said.

"Yeah," Eric nodded.

"And Nora and Sophie-Anne?'

He nodded again. "And my grandmother Grace."

"So you might not even have to speak with Appius at all—right?"

"Right," he agreed.

"So no big deal," Sookie said, taking her feet off of his lap and leaning forward to kiss his lips.

He sighed and deepened the kiss, taking comfort in the distraction she gave him from his dread.

"I think it's bath time," she said breathlessly as they broke the kiss.

"Yes. Bath time."

Eric's POV

Eric had decided to walk from the MET to the Northman Mansion, which was only a two and a half block stroll from the front entrance of the museum. To make his and Sookie's time together last for as long as possible, he'd ridden the subway with her to 86th Street. Then, he'd walked her over to the coffee shop across from the MET, where she'd gotten Milos's and Jimmy's customary treats. She didn't need to get any coffee for herself that morning since she and Eric had gone through a pot at home.

"Home," Eric said to himself as he made the turn up 80th Street from Central Park East. He slowed his pace, feeling himself weighed down as he moved further and further away from the woman who had made him feel as if he truly had a home for the first time in his life. Of course, it didn't help that he was moving toward a place where he'd never been welcome.

His father had bought the old Woolworth mansion when he married Beth, only a few years after Eric's mother had died. But Eric had never felt at home there. The room that he stayed in during winter break hadn't even been consistent. He was rotated around between various guestrooms or old servants' quarters when he was there, though he always stayed somewhere on the otherwise uninhabited second floor. The rest of the family had much larger and grander suites on the third and fourth stories of the mansion. But Eric hadn't seen much of those floors, other than his siblings' rooms and playrooms. And—even then—he'd seen those rooms only a handful of times. He'd never been to the fourth floor, which was where Appius had his room.

Eric looked up as he approached the intimidating Northman Mansion. No—it had never been a home to him. Other than the clothing that Eric packed and then repacked each time he visited the house, there had never been anything personal of his in the rooms where he stayed. And—certainly—nothing of his had ever been left behind.

He remembered very well the first time he "visited" the house. It had been Beth who had led the then seven-year-old Eric to the room where he'd be staying. She almost seemed apologetic when they entered the small basic room that had a view of only the building next door.

Beth had given him a nice smile and had tried to be friendly to him, though he'd only just met her. What Eric remembered most about that visit was that none of the things he was familiar with had been moved over from his old house. In that house, he'd had a room with toys, a Superman bedspread, and even a collection of trains from his Grandfather John. Eric had loved looking at and playing with the trains, especially during the previous two winter breaks when his father had told him to stay in his room unless it was time to eat. However, neither the trains nor anything else could be found in the room Eric was to stay in, and when he asked his new stepmother about them, she'd not known where they were.

During his "meeting" with his father later that day, Appius had criticized Eric for bothering Beth about his old room's contents. Appius had also told Eric that everything from that previous room had been thrown away or given to a deserving child. Eric had cried, but had forced himself to stop when Appius scolded him for acting like an infant. Appius had told him that he was too old to have toys anymore and that no one was interested in hearing his bawling.

Of course, Nora was less than two years younger than Eric, but her room was full of toys and personalized to her liking as if a princess lived there. Pam was five by then, and her room was also made up to suit her tastes.

It was that year—as Pam and Nora had buzzed around the house happily while Eric tried to stay out of Appius's line of sight—that Eric had truly begun to accept that he would never be treated like the other children. It was that year that he made the conscious decision to "stop" being a child altogether in hopes that it would please his father.

Intuitive by nature, Beth soon picked up on the fact that Eric would not be receiving any real attention from Appius—or any items with which to play. Eric overheard Beth talking to Appius about him—asking Appius if she could make Eric's room more comfortable or at least lend him some of Nora and Pam's toys or puzzles. However, Appius had gruffly told Beth that Eric was being punished for misbehaving at school. The next day, Beth had brought a set of classic books to Eric's room. She'd asked him to keep the books in the dresser and to not read them when he wasn't in his room.

Eric had appreciated Beth's kind gesture, but her pity-filled looks disconcerted him, so he made an effort to avoid her after that.

By the next year, Eric had learned that he should take care of his own "leisure time" by bringing books from the school library. That year, he was also allowed to spend some time playing with Pam and Nora in the mansion's newly reconstructed pool room—but only because Nora had requested it. However, when Appius was home, Eric kept mostly to his room or—if the weather wasn't too cold—the garden. Occasionally, he'd hang out in the kitchen. The household cook, Margaret, had come with Beth to the Northman Mansion, and she would let him help her with little things.

Eric's first visit to Northman Mansion was also the first Christmas that Eric had vivid memories of, though that Christmas could have been any of the others throughout his childhood years. They were all the same as far as presents went. Each year, Eric was taken shopping by one of his father's assistants for "non-school" outfits. Three new uniforms were given to him at the beginning of each school year, though Godric had stepped in and bought Eric a few items when he'd gone through major growing spurts. However, most years, Eric would just have to live with pants that were too short.

Every year, Appius allowed his assistant to purchase a set menu of items for Eric: two pairs of jeans, one pair of dress pants, two polo-style shirts, one nicer button down shirt, two pairs of shorts, three plain T-shirts, three pairs of pajamas, a jacket, a pair of gloves, ten pairs of socks, and ten pairs of underwear. Without fail, it was always the same allotment. The assistant would be instructed to buy some of the clothing in Eric's current size and some in the next size up in order to account for any growth over the year. Then, two of the clothing items—usually the jacket and the nicer pants—would be wrapped and put under the family Christmas tree for Eric. The only variable might be if his current stepmother bought him something, but after the first year—when Beth bought Eric a model plane and received a disapproving look from Appius—his stepmothers' gifts skewed toward the practical. Eric would receive a watch or a belt from his stepmother. Beth had also given him a wallet once—just a few months before she died. It had been his first.

Eric stopped in the shadow of his father's opulent home and then took a deep breath before ringing the bell. As far as he knew, he was the only one among the children who did that. But—then again—he was the only one without a key to the home. The butler, Markus, opened the door immediately and nodded at Eric.

"Good morning, Mr. Northman. The others are in the east living room already."

"Thanks, Markus. Are you well? I don't think I've seen you since January."

"I'm fine," the butler answered with an easy smile. "And—yes—it has been too long."

"Is Olivia still at Northwestern? And Margaret? Last time I was here, her mother was ill. Is she doing okay?" Eric asked conversationally.

Markus's POV

Markus McIntire smiled at the young man who had always taken the time and effort to ask about his own family, even though he was rarely at the family estate. Markus had known Eric Northman for more than two decades, and in that time, Eric was the only member of the Northman family, other than Appius's previous wives Tamara and Beth, who seemed genuinely interested in the welfare of the live-in staff at the mansion.

Markus and his wife Margaret had taken an instant liking to Eric, whom they'd met when he was just seven years old. He stayed in the house once a year—always over his winter break from school—until he was eighteen. After that, Eric had not stayed overnight in the house.

As was the usual case with servants, Markus and Margaret had seen and heard many things in their employers' household throughout the years. But they'd seen little of Eric and had heard even less from him. The little boy was quiet and polite almost to a fault—nothing like other boys Markus had come into contract with before. That first year, Margaret had heard Eric crying softly in the small room that he had stayed in, but—other than that—he'd barely made a peep.

Over the years, Eric had opened up a bit more—though he'd never played or even conversed as an ordinary child would have. He never let his guard down. He rarely smiled, and when he did talk, it would be polite and formal discourse. Even before he was a teen, Eric would ask Markus or Margaret about their families, politely listening to their responses and asking the same kinds of follow-up questions that an adult would. And—when Eric did swim in the pool with his siblings—Markus noticed that Eric would behave more like a lifeguard than a child.

During the days—when his sisters didn't specifically ask for him to be a third participant in their activities—Eric would most often find a corner of the garden to stay in, usually with a book. Markus would try to encourage the boy to stay indoors on the coldest days, but Eric seemed to be anxious to be out of the way, especially when Appius was home. However, Margaret was sometimes able to entice Eric indoors, claiming to need help from the child. However, once inside, Eric would jump out of his own skin and look for a corner to hide in if he heard someone else coming to the kitchen.

Markus sighed. He had come to respect Appius Northman in many ways. He was a good and fair employer. He had even arranged for Margaret to have an assistant in the kitchen now that her arthritis was worse. Markus and Margaret had decided—without question—to stay on with Appius after Beth Gainesborough, their original employer, had died. And they'd never regretted that choice.

Markus had never thought that Appius was the warmest father in the world—except, perhaps, with Nora—but with Eric, he'd always been downright cold. When Markus and Margaret had joined the Northman household, the older chauffeur, who'd seen how Appius had been before the death of his first wife, had told them that it was grief that made Appius distance himself from the boy.

So Markus and Margaret had kept a special eye on Eric when he was living in the home each winter. Once Eric turned eighteen, however, he was in the house only sporadically. Even so, he always asked about Markus and Margaret's family.

The butler pulled himself out of his thoughts to respond to Eric's query. "Olivia is doing well in school," he said proudly. "She'll be graduating this spring—you know?"

"She's becoming an accountant—right?" Eric asked.

Markus nodded, not surprised that Eric had remembered that detail.

"Be sure to tell her to call me if she wants to come back to New York. Northman Publishing is always in need of people who are good with numbers."

"I'll tell her," Markus said with a big smile. "Oh. Margaret made you a batch of banana bread, so be sure to visit her before you go. But don't tell your sisters about it so that you can sneak it out," he added in a conspiratorial tone as he led Eric toward the east living room.

"Is Margaret doing better? The last time I spoke with her, she told me her arthritis was getting worse."

Markus sighed with frustration. "Her doctor told her that she needs to cut back on doing the things that are so taxing to her hands, but her idea of cutting back is knitting for two hours instead of three during the evenings."

Eric chuckled. "That sounds like her—but we would be lost without our new scarves each winter." He smiled fondly, obviously thinking about the scarves that were waiting for him on his suitcase when he was ready to leave the house each winter.

"I'd be lost without her—period," Markus mumbled under his breath before looking up at Eric. He shrugged and smirked. "I suppose if she weren't so damned stubborn, I'd get bored because of nothing to complain about."

Eric chuckled.

"And—anyway—your father has hired someone to help her out during the day, and that's been a Godsend."

Eric smiled and nodded before steeling himself to face what was behind the door.


	48. Father's Day, Part 2

Chapter 48: Father's Day, Part 2

"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."—Sigmund Freud

As Markus opened the doors to the living room, Eric could see Appius, already glaring in his direction. It was the welcome he'd learned to expect from his father. Eric tensed as he heard Markus close the doors behind him.

"Why didn't you come with Pam in the car I sent?" Appius asked accusingly, by way of greeting. "You made Sophie-Anne nervous that you wouldn't arrive on time," he added critically.

Eric glanced at his watch, which read 10:05. He'd been asked by Sophie-Anne to arrive between 10:00 and 10:30—as brunch was scheduled for 11:00.

Eric ignored Appius's words. "Good morning, Father," he said formally as he stepped forward slightly and reached out to hand Appius the beautifully wrapped gift he'd brought. "Happy Father's Day."

Appius looked at the gift as if it were a soiled diaper, so Eric lowered his hand and stepped back. He looked around the opulent living room and was surprised to see that he and Appius were alone. "Where are the others?" he asked, trying to hide his apprehension.

Appius answered by silently glaring at Eric, who set the present down on a table that held several already unwrapped packages. Eric knew that the package he'd brought would not be opened; his gift never was. But he no longer felt the sting at that fact.

Eric had brought the same gift to his father since he was twenty-one. It was a pen that had been part of Eric's inheritance from his paternal grandfather. Eric had found the item in a safety deposit box that he'd been left by John Northman. The pen and a letter sharing its significance to the Northman family were the only items in the box.

The pen had been used by the first Northman in America to ink a deal he'd made with Cornelius Vanderbilt, the infamous robber baron and railroad mogul. That deal had begun the prominence of the Northman family in New York. The pen itself was made of ivory and silver, and it had a beautifully etched metal point. In fact, according to the specialist to whom Eric had taken the pen so that it could be restored to working condition, the antique was likely one of the first steel-point pens ever made.

It had been given to their ancestor—who happened to be Eric's namesake—by Vanderbilt, whose initials were engraved into the silver. As would be expected, the pen was worth a lot of money. After he'd had it restored, Eric had spent some of his summer trip to Sweden in his morfar's old workshop, making an olivewood case for the pen and the letter.

From the first moment he'd seen the pen, Eric felt that it should belong to Appius for a variety of reasons—not the least of which was that his father collected pens. During his many meetings with his father, Eric had noticed several antique pens displayed prominently in his office. Eric had figured that the pen was the one thing that he could give Appius that he would truly value. In fact, Eric had been surprised that his grandfather John had left the item to him and not to his father. He still wondered why that had been the case.

Eric had first tried to give Appius the pen more than ten years before—the Christmas when Eric was 21, the first one after he'd gotten his inheritance. Eric had watched for his father's reaction with great anticipation. But the gift had been left unopened. Later that day, Eric had been summoned to Appius's office, where the gift lay in the trash, still unopened. In fact, the trashcan had been moved so that Eric could clearly see what his offering meant to Appius.

Eric had thought about taking the gift out of the trash and telling Appius what it was, but he'd not been able to make himself speak. Instead, he'd sat stoically through that year's critique from Appius. Eric had later asked Markus to retrieve the gift out of the trash. He told Markus what was in the box and let the butler know that he could give it to Appius or even sell it if he wanted.

However, a couple of days later, the unopened gift had arrived at the small house Eric was renting near Harvard. Markus had sent it back to him. Since then, every time that Eric had to attend a function that required a gift, he would bring the pen. Each time, he would have it re-wrapped and looking perfect. And each time, it would arrive back to him—unopened. However, Eric couldn't bring himself to stop trying, nor could he bring himself to tell his father what was in the box. Perhaps it was a kind of self-imposed torture. Eric was self-aware enough to recognize that he hoped that—if it were ever opened—the item would buy a little of his father's affection.

Of course, Eric had not received a gift from his father since the clothing. However, that didn't really matter to Eric—at least not anymore. Somehow the fact that Appius wouldn't accept his gift mattered a lot more.

Appius's harsh voice drew Eric out of his musings.

"Sophie-Anne is showing the others the changes she has made to the north parlor and the pool room," Appius said curtly. "I'm sure she would have been more than happy to show you as well—had you arrived on time. But now that you are here, I want to talk to you."

Appius turned and went toward his office. Eric dutifully followed even though his skin crawled. Going into his father's office brought up a lot of bad memories for him.

"Sit," Appius said as if speaking to a dog.

Eric sat in the chair he always sat in, the one opposite his father's larger, higher seat. Of course, now that Eric was a grown man—taller than even his father—the difference in chair size shouldn't have mattered much. But Eric still felt like a small boy when he sat down in his father's presence.

"I have not seen any new pictures of you and Isabel in the society pages for a while. You have not fucked that up—have you?" Appius snarled as he glared at Eric. "The Edgingtons are a powerful family, and you should do what you can to secure Isabel quickly, especially since you've already fucked up things with Freyda de Castro for some unknown fucking reason."

Eric kept his voice even, and—knowing it would do no good anyway—he didn't bother to comment on the fact that Freyda was crazy. "Isabel has been busy for a few weeks, but there is the charity auction coming up, and she plans to accompany me to that. You needn't fear; I have done nothing to alienate her affections. I have several years before I must settle down, and Isabel is in favor of waiting the finalize matters as well."

Appius narrowed his gaze. "Do not fuck up your chances of aligning this family with the Edgingtons as you did with the de Castros. It's time that you work a little harder to secure Isabel. Sophie-Anne heard a rumor that the two of you were not seeing each other as much anymore."

"As I said," Eric returned, his tone still calm, "Isabel and I will be attending the charity event together. Working on the deal with China has cut into my available leisure time, but Isabel is understanding of my work and knows that it's my priority. And she has had her own deadlines to deal with."

Appius scoffed. "And that's another thing. You know that I am displeased about the final deal you made with the Chinese. You completely disregarded the changes I suggested last Monday."

It was all Eric could do to hold his father's gaze. "As my latest report indicated, I was able to implement many of your suggestions, but a compromise was made to keep the deal from falling through. The profit margin will still be incredibly high."

Appius looked at Eric with disappointment in his eyes. "You are soft when it comes to things like this, boy. I just hope you can get your shit together before you take over Northman Publishing." Appius sighed dramatically. "Of course, I don't hold out much hope for that. Appius, Jr. will be lucky if there's a company left for him to take over, given the fact that I fully expect for you to run it into the ground. It is a pity that you didn't inherit good business acumen from either side of your blood. I'm sure that your," he paused and smirked, "morfar would agree."

Eric's fists clenched and his voice betrayed his distress, "Remember, Father, if I fail to keep the profit margins up, the contract allows you to take over; therefore, there's no way I could run the company into the ground."

"When," Appius said with a smile, as he saw the evidence that he'd upset his eldest child, whom he still considered the tainted spawn of Stella. It was obvious that he relished in Eric's discomfort. "Yes. When you fail. Of course, the contract also dictates that you marry properly. I don't think I have to remind you of that—do I?"

"No," Eric said through unopened lips.

Appius's smiled devolved into a cruel glower. "Good. Sophie-Anne is counting on you. She wants another wedding to plan. Plus, she has it in her head that we must travel for six months after I retire. Then again—that might be enjoyable. I have rarely traveled for pleasure, and my son—Appius, Jr.—will be old enough to enjoy seeing the world by then."

"I understand what my requirements are," Eric said, his tone having returned to a neutral pitch, but his eyes still conveying hurt. "You needn't worry about me fulfilling them."

"I do worry," Appius said with malice in his voice. "I must worry that you will fail—because you have never failed to disappoint me before."

"I am certain that no success I have will ever hinder your disappointment in me, Father," Eric said, his voice on edge again.

Appius glared at Eric coldly. "You would do well to remember respect, boy," Appius snarled. "You would be nothing without me."

Before Eric could reply, a knock at the door interrupted them, and a breezy Sophie-Anne entered. She either failed to recognize or chose to ignore the tension in the room.

"Oh—there you two are! Brunch is almost ready, darling. And Eric—don't you look nice," she added airily and without even really looking at him.

"Hello Sophie-Anne," Eric said rising. "You look lovely." And she did. Her white pantsuit and pearls were exactly the kind of thing a doting New York society wife should wear on Father's Day.

"Oh—this little thing?" Sophie-Anne said gleefully, referring to her outfit. "It's actually Pam's doing. We found it when we went shopping together last week. And the pearls are from your father, of course," she added, her smile somehow seeming both doting and disingenuous at the same time.

Eric nodding. Sophie-Anne's invitation for the day had told him to dress casually, but he knew that there was nothing casual about any of Sophie-Anne's little get-togethers, so he'd worn a tailored dark suit with a crisp white dress shirt. The only thing different about his current attire and his work attire was the lack of a tie.

Playing the dutiful stepson to the woman who was almost ten years younger than he was, Eric extended his arm to escort Sophie-Anne back to the living room, even as she prattled on about her next redecorating project—which was converting almost the entire "useless second floor" into a "dream playground" for Appius, Jr.

In truth, Eric didn't mind Sophie-Anne, although he really didn't care for her decorating tastes. She had made the house even more ornate since her arrival; however, Eric didn't live there, so it didn't much matter to him what she did. The changes in décor certainly showed Appius's wealth, which seemed to be what Sophie-Anne—and Appius—wanted.

Once they entered the living room, quick and perfunctory greetings were shared between the older siblings. Alexei, of course, was not in attendance, and since Nora, Pam, and Eric saw each other almost daily, there was no need to make much fuss. To Eric's delight, Gracie flew over to him from across the room and gave him a long hug as Eric swept her off the floor.

"Eric!" Gracie said. "Just wait till I tell you about my recital! I did so well in my practices that my instructor made up a solo—just for me! Can you believe it?"

"Of course I can! That's terrific," Eric said, putting her down. "And congratulations!"

"Thanks for my birthday present," Gracie said, twirling around in the green sundress that Eric had sent her the month before.

"You look as pretty as a picture in it," he winked down at his little sister.

"You're still coming to my recital—right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Eric smiled.

"And you're gonna take me to that restaurant we found last time you visited—right? Mommy doesn't like Chinese food and never wants to take me," she pouted a little.

Eric nodded. "Of course!"

Appius scrutinized the interaction between Eric and his youngest daughter with disapproval, but he said nothing, opting to move to the other side of the room with Andre. He'd made clear to Gracie's mother, Tamara, many times that he disapproved of Eric playing any kind of role in Gracie's life, but the obstinate woman would not acquiesce to his request. He couldn't help but to be glad he'd divorced her and found a woman more pliable.

As Gracie skipped over to Pam and Nora, who were looking through some magazines, a woman dressed in a white uniform entered and had a quick word with Sophie-Anne. A slight frown on her face, Sophie-Anne announced that little Appius, Jr. was napping, but that the nanny would bring him down after brunch.

Eric walked over to the two women in the room that he'd yet to greet. Grace Northman looked to be holding court on one of the sofas, and Tamara, who had driven down for the day with Gracie, was nodding indulgently as her ex-mother-in-law gossiped about one of her "friend's" husbands leaving her for a twenty-year-old.

Eric greeted both women as soon as Grace's story was finished. As always, his paternal grandmother regarded him coldly.

"Eric, I've heard that you are focusing too much attention on you dealings with the Chinese," Grace said critically. "Why not put your attention on Northman Publishing's domestic affairs—as my John would have wanted?"

"Grandmother Northman," Eric said formally with a little bow in her direction, "you look lovely." He took a breath. "I'm sure that Father has told you that I oversee the international division of NP, so I have nothing to do with the domestic side."

Grace scoffed. "It seems to me that you should be supporting your father's endeavors—instead of becoming some kind of globe-trotting cavalier."

Tamara—thankfully—interrupted Grace before she could really get going with her usual critique of Eric. "Eric," she said, "Gracie told me that you would be able to come to her recital this Saturday. She's excited to have her big brother there—you know," she said with a sincere smile. "And feel free to stay overnight at the house if you want."

"I wouldn't miss the recital," Eric smiled, though he felt a sudden jolt of regret that he wouldn't be able to take Sookie to the event. "However, I cannot stay over. I'll need to get back to prepare of the work-week," Eric said, knowing that he wouldn't want to miss a night in Sookie's arms or their trip to the MET the next weekend.

"What recital?" Grace asked.

Tamara smiled at her ex-mother-in-law. "Remember—Gracie's spring ballet recital? We sent you the invitation last month. You had to decline because of a garden party—if I remember correctly," she added without judgment.

"Oh yes," Grace said. "The Abbot party is this Saturday." She looked up at Eric. "Why aren't you and Isabel going to the Abbot party?" she asked with a narrowed glare.

Eric tried to retain his smile. It likely looked as fake as it felt. "I had already committed to Gracie's recital," he said.

Grace Northman scoffed at Eric but then turned a more conciliatory gaze to Tamara. "Obviously, we all love Gracie," she said with a glance around the room to make sure that her youngest granddaughter was not within earshot, "however, the Abbot party is an important event on the social calendar. I'm certain that Gracie will understand that Eric will not be able to attend her recital."

Eric tensed up immediately, sensing that his grandmother would try to push the issue. He wasn't about to back down and disappoint Gracie—especially not for a vapid society party that he'd hate attending.

Tamara sighed and exchanged a look with Eric. Both of them understood well that Grace Northman prioritized her position in society over everything else—other than her son. However, Eric also knew that she was a good grandmother to Gracie, so he didn't want to cause a stir while Gracie was in the room.

Sadly, a "stir" came upon them in the form of Appius.

"Mother," Appius said, sitting next to Grace Northman and kissing her hand, "you look upset."

"I just discovered that Eric is skipping the Abbot party to go to Boston this Saturday," she reported as if it were the most unsettling news she'd ever heard.

"Well—I will be in Boston too, of course—for Gracie's recital," Appius said.

Grace looked shocked. "But Appius," she said with a fake smile as if she were trying to prevent herself from seeming to disapprove of her son in public, "it's the Abbots. And Jeffrey Abbot is currently choosing a new investment partner for his building project in Midtown across from Northman Tower. And I know that—in addition to you—Copley's son is looking to get involved."

Eric wasn't surprised that his paternal grandmother was "in the know" when it came to important deals being struck among the most prominent New Yorkers. During the all-important society functions she lived for, she operated on her son's behalf, and because of her influence, Appius often had inside information about the projects in which he was interested in investing.

"Of course," Appius said easily. "That is why I have a meeting with Jeffrey Abbot this Wednesday. And I will be going to the Abbot party. Luckily, it's early enough in the day that I won't even have the leave the party that early in order to make it in time for Gracie's solo performance—which was moved to the end of the recital to accommodate my schedule."

Eric didn't miss the fact that Appius was looking at Tamara with a little smirk.

"I wasn't aware that Gracie's solo had been pushed to the end of the performance," Tamara said in a somewhat clipped tone.

"You're taking the plane?" Grace asked her son, ignoring the tension between Appius and his ex-wife.

Appius nodded and then looked at Eric somewhat sinisterly. "Why don't you and Isabel join us for the trip up? That way you won't miss the Abbot party."

Eric looked over at Gracie, who was laughing with Pam and Nora. He knew that Appius had overheard earlier that he'd promised to take Gracie to lunch before her recital. The look in Appius's eyes when Eric looked back at him told him all he needed to know; Appius wanted Eric to disappoint Gracie. He knew that it would hurt Eric to do that, and Appius was always looking for ways to alienate Eric from his younger siblings.

"Father," Eric began, "I believe you heard that I will be going to Boston early on Saturday in order to take Gracie to lunch to celebrate her recital."

Grace scoffed and looked at Eric with disapproval.

"I'm sure that Gracie will understand—won't she, Tamara?" Appius asked, though he was still looking right at Eric. "You will go to the Abbot party, Eric. Need I remind you of your family obligations—again?" he asked with a patronizing lilt to his voice.

"I have another family commitment," Eric tried.

"No, Eric," Appius said, his tone inviting no further discussion. "You had another commitment. Now you don't. And you will bring Isabel—to both the Abbot party and the recital. It is high time that I got to know my future daughter-in-law better."

Gracie chose that moment to bounce over to them, holding a beautiful hair barrette in her hand. "Look, Mom, Pam gave me this to wear to the recital! She said that she used to wear it for her recitals and that it brought her good luck!"

"It's gorgeous!" Tamara said with a warm smile for her daughter. "Uh—we were all just discussing your recital," she added a little nervously.

"I'll be able to attend, after all, dear," Grace Northman said. "We're all coming up on your father's plane after our function that day."

Gracie smiled widely. "Cool!"

Appius glanced at Eric and then at his daughter. "Gracie, I'm afraid that Eric is going to have to disappoint you. He'd forgotten that he had to attend that day's earlier function with us, so he is cancelling your lunch plans."

Gracie immediately looked up at Eric with clear disappointment in her eyes.

Eric bent down so that he was eyelevel with her. Knowing that he couldn't really challenge Appius without consequences, his tone was full of contrition. "Sorry, kiddo. Like Father said—I forgot. But can I make it up to you by coming up the Saturday after the recital? We'll spend the day in Franklin Park and then go have some Chinese food—if you want."

Some of the disappointment melted from Gracie's eyes.

"You cannot do that either, Eric," Appius said. "You have a meeting at NP that Saturday. Don't you remember?"

"What meeting?" Eric asked, knowing that there had been no such meeting on his calendar the day before.

"It is with Neave and Lochlan to go over the contracts with China," Appius said.

The disappointment was back in Gracie's eyes.

Eric gave his youngest sister a sad smile. "The first Saturday I can make it then—okay, Gracie?" he asked.

"Okay." The little girl nodded and went to lean into her mother's side, her discontent clear. Tamara gave Eric a sympathetic smile.

"Really, Eric, you should be more aware of your own schedule than your father," Grace said critically.

Eric could only force a smile and retreat. He knew that if he stayed there, Appius would likely come up with other ways to torment him. "Excuse me," he said to the little group, "I just need to go speak with Nora and Pam about a quick business matter." He looked at Gracie. "I really am excited about your recital, Gracie."

He turned and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, feeling the sting of the disappointment he'd seen in his sister's eyes, though not knowing a damned thing he could do about it. If he challenged his father, he knew that matters would be made worse. So he made his way over to Pam. Nora had—thankfully—drifted over to speak to Sophie-Anne.

"Why is Grandmother Grace looking at you like you have shit on your shoe?" Pam asked in a hushed voice when Eric joined her.

"I had to disappoint Gracie," Eric said, though he knew that had nothing to do with his grandmother's look of contempt. "I'd planned to take her to lunch on the day of her recital."

"Yeah, she was telling Nora and me. She was excited. Why did you cancel?" Pam asked with a tinge of judgment in her tone.

"Father requires that I be at the Abbot party," Eric said evenly.

"Oh—well. It's better that you're at the Abbots' anyway. Old Jeffrey's son—what's his name?"

"Scott," Eric answered.

"Right. Isn't he a friend of yours?"

"We were a couple of years apart at Harvard," Eric said. He decided not to mention that Scott Abbot was a pretentious prick in Eric's opinion.

"Right. And Daddy's trying to get that investment, so you can work on Scott."

Eric nodded, although he knew that there was really nothing he could do to grease the wheels for his father's deal. Truth be told, since Appius had a meeting with Jeffrey Abbot that Wednesday, the deal was likely already sealed.

Eric looked over his shoulder at his grandmother. She was still staring daggers at him. He sighed. Ever since he'd learned about his mother's affair with Peder Lang, Eric had been certain that Appius had told Grace about the infidelity. Grandmother Northman—as Eric was required to call Grace—had never treated him with the affection with which she treated her other grandchildren. She wasn't a particularly "warm" woman to anyone, but, with him, she was downright frigid.

Eric couldn't help but to wonder if Grandpa John had also known about Peder Lang. In truth, Eric didn't remember spending much time with his paternal grandfather. His grandparents were usually traveling during the winter holidays, and Eric remembered only a couple of Christmases when they were present at Appius's home. And—unsurprisingly—John Northman had spent more time with the younger children, both because he knew them better and because they were more outgoing—and more fun—than the painfully introverted Eric.

It was unexpected, then, when Grandpa John left Eric a sizable inheritance when he died. The other children had been left only NP stock since they all had trust funds set up. On the other hand, Eric had been given quite a bit of money in addition to stock, though he'd had to wait until he was 21 to get access to it. Tellingly, that inheritance had been set up to be completely independent of Appius's control.

Had John Northman suspected that Appius would withhold Eric's trust fund from him? Eric had to figure that the answer to that question was, "yes."

After the incident with Peder and the DNA test, Eric had begun to suspect that his paternal grandfather had been trying to help him as much as he could, even though he probably thought that Eric wasn't even his grandson.

As Eric half-listened while Pam told him about the latest antics of one of the pickier authors she worked with, he continued to think about his grandfather. He still remembered when Godric unexpectedly showed up at Exeter Academy one afternoon. His old headmaster had driven Eric to Manhattan so that he could visit John Northman. Eric had been seventeen, and Grandmother Northman had not been in the house. During the thirty minutes they'd spent together, his very weak grandfather had told him that he was sorry that he'd not been able to make things better for Eric. He also said that no matter what happened in the future, he would always love and be proud of Eric, and then he gave Eric a box, which held the trains that Eric remembered from his childhood.

Grandpa John had explained that Markus had brought the trains to him a few months before. The butler had been tasked with cleaning out the attic and had found them there. Appius had told him to give the items to charity, but when he went to do so, Markus noticed some old pictures in the box. The pictures depicted Eric and John Northman playing with the trains. Not knowing how to get ahold of Eric, the butler had secretly called John and asked if he wanted the items.

Eric's grandfather had apologized for not returning the trains to him sooner and seemed to want to say more to him; however, the visit ended abruptly when John received a call telling him that his wife was returning early.

John Northman had died less than a week later.

Eric had appreciated his grandfather's words and kindness very much, though he'd been confused by the need for secrecy. And he'd been even more confused when he was invited to the reading of John Northman's Will two weeks later. The other children were there—of course—but Eric hadn't expected to be included, especially after he'd not been invited to attend the funeral. Eric had figured that his gift from his grandfather had been the trains, which were more than he'd ever expected from the man.

However, Eric was wrong. All of the other children, excluding Gracie—since Tamara had only just found out that she was pregnant days before the Will's reading—were given 3% of NP. However, Eric was given much more stock than the others—14%. And then it was announced that Eric was getting more money on top of that. It had been clear to all present that Appius was furious that Eric had been given anything at all.

Now that Eric knew that his father had thought that he was a bastard, he figured that Appius had asked John Northman to leave him out of his will. John obviously hadn't heeded his son's wishes, much to the apparent chagrin of both Appius and Grace Northman.

"It's time for brunch!" Sophie-Anne's voice chimed, breaking Eric from his thoughts.

Eric was grateful that the event was moving along. He glanced at his watch and smiled a little, knowing that Sookie would be engrossed in the gallery she'd picked.

That thought gave him a lot of peace, despite the fact that he felt like he was in the middle of enemy territory.


	49. Father's Day, Part 3

Chapter 49: Father's Day, Part 3

During the Father's Day luncheon, the Northman family settled into its normal routine for such gatherings. Pam, Nora, and Sophie-Anne spent most of the time gossiping at one end of the long dining room table. However, every once in a while, Sophie-Anne would switch to dutiful wife mode and talk loudly about what a wonderful father Appius was to Appius, Jr. Appius would accept his wife's praise with an indulgent smile and then go back to talking to either his mother or Andre. When Grace Northman wasn't speaking to Appius, she spoke in turn to each of her grandchildren with the exception of Eric, whom she continued to glare at from time to time.

Yes. It was perfectly "normal" for the Northman family dinners Eric had attended.

For his part, Eric tried to stay focused on the discussion he was having with Tamara—about her law practice and the case she was working on. He was also able to draw a still disappointed Gracie into a short conversation about her school friends. Luckily, by the end of the meal, things seemed to be almost back to normal between Eric and his youngest sister.

After the brunch ended, Sophie-Anne insisted that they all return to the living room for "family time," and about thirty minutes later, Appius, Jr. was brought in by the nanny. The 16-month old was walking a little, and when he spotted his eldest brother, he made a beeline for him—much to Appius's chagrin—despite the fact that the toddler hadn't seen Eric in months. Appius knew that intercepting his young son would only cause the child to cry, so he just glared at Eric as he reached down and picked up Appius, Jr.

Eric tried to ignore Appius's anger and concentrated on enjoying his limited time with A.J. Since Eric had last seen A.J., the toddler had begun talking, and Eric was amused by the fact that A.J. called him, "Ehhkkk," which was a drawn-out one syllable word for him. After about ten minutes, during which A.J. climbed Eric like he was a tree, Eric watched as Appius said some quiet words to the nanny. Less than a minute later, the woman collected A.J. and took him from the room—much to Eric's disappointment.

After that, Eric simply tried to stay out of Appius's way, biding his time until he could make an unnoticed exit. However, the Northman patriarch made his was over to Eric once Tamara and Gracie left the room in order to go to the kitchen to say hello to Margaret.

Out of the earshot of the others, Appius sneered at Eric. "You will bring Isabel with you this coming Saturday."

"I will have to see if she is free," Eric said calmly and cautiously. He knew that Isabel had about as much interest in going to the Abbots' pretentious party as he did—which was none. Plus, he didn't like the thought of going to any function without Sookie so soon after they'd gotten together. He'd wanted to have more time to talk to her about such eventualities. Even though Eric knew that Sookie wouldn't begrudge him the fact that he would have to be seen at social functions with Isabel, Eric was sensitive enough to know it wouldn't be easy for her.

"If you don't have Isabel on your arm all fucking day Saturday, you will not be getting on my plane to go to Boston," Appius said coldly. He smirked a little. "It would be a true shame if you disappointed Gracie yet again," he added before walking away.

Eric reined in his anger over Appius's threat as Tamara and Gracie came back into the room. After a few more minutes, Tamara announced that they needed to get on the road if they were to be back to Boston by Gracie's bedtime.

After their goodbyes, Eric glanced at his watch and saw that it was 2:45. He looked toward the other end of the room where Appius was now on the phone and decided that he'd had about all he could take of the Father's Day "celebration."

"Seven o'clock—right?" Pam asked Eric as he started to move toward the door of the living room.

"What's at 7:00?" Nora asked coming up to them.

Eric tensed a little. The last thing he needed was for Nora to try to get an invitation to his home that night. He knew that he couldn't trust her to keep his relationship with Sookie a secret. Plus, Eric had avoided having Nora in his home—except during business-related events. And—even then—she'd stayed mostly in the "gray part" of the house. He might have had some affection for his stepsister, but he knew where her true loyalties lie—with Appius.

Pam POV

"It's just dinner," Pam said quickly, kicking herself a little for having brought it up. Though she was the first to admit that she was self-centered, Pam was intuitive enough to know that Eric didn't really feel comfortable around many people—not even Nora. That had become especially true after their father's horrifying idea to have Eric and Nora date. Hell! For a while, Nora had even talked about marrying Eric—which was an idea that still made Pam cringe!

Pam had not been able to believe it when Eric actually tried having a relationship with their stepsister. She could only imagine that he'd done it to please their father. From what she'd heard from Eric right after the failed attempt at romance, it was a subject best left closed. Unfortunately, Nora had over-shared a few months earlier when she'd told Pam that Eric hadn't been able to "get it up" when they'd attempted to have sex. That information had been much more than even the shamelessly blunt Pam had wanted to hear.

She looked at Eric's eyes, which seemed to be begging her for help. She obliged him, knowing that the prospect of work was the only sure-fire way to deter their nosey stepsister when she sensed that there might be something going on. Pam wasn't exactly sure why Eric wanted her to come over for dinner, but she intuited that it was something he didn't want Nora in on. Hell—maybe it was even about their stepsister, who'd been drinking more and more lately. God knows that they didn't need her delving into drugs again!

"A working dinner," Pam said, amending her earlier statement. "There are some personnel files that I want Eric's input on."

Pam saw a flicker in Eric's eye—something resembling surprise, but he quickly covered the emotion, as he was disposed to cover up everything. She sighed a little, though Nora didn't notice. Pam wished that Eric could be more open, but he'd always closed himself off—from the time when they were kids. Inarguably, he'd been a dutiful brother—protective even—but he wasn't exactly what she'd call "fun."

Always wanting to be closer to her older brother—who had been away at boarding school most of the time when they were younger—Pam had hoped that she and Eric could become real friends when they moved into the same building. But that hadn't happened. In fact, she was beginning to think that there was something a little "off" about Eric—a personality flaw that prevented him from being close with anyone.

Pam wasn't blind to the fact that their father was a bit harder on Eric than he was on the rest of his children, but she figured that if Eric could just be more pleasant around their father—instead of so nervous all the time—things would be better. In fact, she resolved to speak with him about just that during their dinner. Pam's attention was drawn from her thoughts by Nora, whom she realized was trying to get her attention.

"It's a pity you have other plans. I'm taking Daddy to Le Bernardin for dinner for Father's Day. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come," Nora said, addressing her comment to only Pam. All three of the siblings knew that Appius wouldn't have welcomed having Eric along.

Pam sighed again. To her that was the problem. Their father didn't want Eric around because Eric just wasn't "pleasant" to be around in a social setting. Again, she resolved to have a discussion with him later.

"That's okay," Pam replied to Nora. "I need to make it an early night anyway," she said honestly. "These next two weeks are going to be hellish as I make sure everything's caught up in the editing department before my trip to Sweden."

"Ah—yes," Nora said with a nod. "You're leaving the first week of July right? And you're spending two weeks?"

Pam nodded.

Nora looked at Eric. Pam noticed some trepidation in her stepsister's tone as she lowered her voice. "You know—Daddy mentioned that he wasn't happy you were taking two weeks off as well, and that's right when the Millner account needs to be renegotiated."

Eric nodded in understanding. From the look in their stepsister's eyes, Pam could tell that the Millner renegotiation was not something that Nora felt comfortable overseeing. And—as for their father—he had certainly not been reticent when it came to expressing his loud disapproval of Eric's vacation plans. Pam had heard her father's complaints several times; somewhat selfishly, she was just relieved that she had avoided any of her father's consternation about her own vacation plans.

Eric POV

"I'll do some work on the Millner account next week," Eric said in a low tone that only Nora and Pam could hear, since Sophie-Anne and Grace were not that far away from them. "And I'll make sure it's ready for you the week before I go to Sweden. In fact," he said, glancing in Appius's direction, "I think I'll take off right now so that I can get a good start on it for you before tomorrow."

Immediately, Nora looked relieved. "Excellent! Yes, you should get going then!" she said a little too loudly and a little too enthusiastically. Unfortunately, her outburst attracted Appius's attention.

"You are not leaving yet—are you?" Appius said with clear disapproval as he crossed the room in long strides with Andre tracking right behind.

Nora looked at Eric apologetically and then tried to run interference with her stepfather. "Oh Daddy," she laughed a little, "you know Eric. He's a stick-in-the-mud. He's got some work he wants to do. And—anyway—our reservation is in just a couple of hours, so I need to go upstairs so that I can get ready."

Appius gave Nora a genuine smile. "You are right, dear," he said with a level of warmth in his voice that made Eric involuntarily stiffen with jealousy. He brushed that feeling aside as Appius continued speaking. "Yes—it is time that Eric left so that we can all move on to a more pleasurable part of our day."

Appius looked over at Andre. "Andre," he said, giving his lover a meaningful look, "why don't I get you that book we were speaking of earlier?"

Glancing quickly at Grace, in front of whom Appius and he continued to keep up the pretense that they were only friends, Andre spoke up, "Yes—thank you."

Appius kissed each of his daughters on the cheek and then left the room with Andre on his heels. He didn't bother sparing Eric another look.

Oblivious to the tension, Nora gave Eric air-kisses near each of his cheeks.

"Thanks, Eric. You're a lifesaver," she whispered before turning to Pam. "Hey, Sis, come see me before you go?" Nora requested of her stepsister. "I can never get my hair right without you."

"You can't do anything right without me," Pam drawled jokingly.

Nora gave Pam a quick, but gentle punch to the arm before leaving the room.

Happy to have been dismissed, Eric said polite goodbyes to his grandmother and stepmother before kissing Pam on the cheek.

"I'll see you later," he whispered to her.

"Yeah," she said, looking up at him. "Oh—and I have something I want to talk to you about tonight," she said a little tentatively.

"Okay," he nodded before leaving the living room as quickly as he could without drawing undo attention from Grace or Sophie-Anne.

Eric didn't relax until he reached the kitchen and found Margaret sitting in her usual chair in the corner of the kitchen next to the large hearth. Her legs were propped up on the little stool he'd gotten for her for Christmas almost a decade before, and she was reading the newspaper Appius had finished and discarded that morning. Eric smiled; he knew that Margaret could be found in the same chair and doing the same thing every afternoon she worked. Also familiar was the scent of something baking. It smelled delicious.

"Markus told me that you had gotten some help in here," Eric remarked as he walked to the counter and helped himself to a used whisk that still had cookie dough on it. He knew without having to ask that Margaret had saved it for him.

She smiled at him affectionately and put down her paper. "You just missed my helper—actually. Her name's Mandy, and she started last week. Usually, she comes in to help with lunch and dinner, but I had her here early since Sophie-Anne wanted for there to be six courses for the brunch." She rolled her eyes.

Eric chuckled and picked up a second whisk. "Markus told me that Olivia is graduating in the spring," he said casually as he sat down on one of the tall bar stools next to the counter.

"Yes, and Markus told me that you'd basically offered Olivia a job," she said a little sternly. "Now, I've got no problems with you interviewing Olivia, but she needs to earn the job on her own merit—okay, Mr. Northman?"

"Eric," he corrected for what must have been the fiftieth time since he'd turned eighteen and had suddenly become Mr. Northman to the staff.

"I'm sorry," Margaret said congenially, "it's just that you're all grown up now."

"Not so grown up that I don't want these," Eric said gesturing toward the whisk he'd already licked clean.

Margaret chuckled and got up. Eric looked on in concern as her knees popped loudly, but she waved off his worry. She picked up a little brown bag. "I made you your banana bread—just like you like it—with pecans."

Eric kissed the older woman on the cheek. "Thanks. And don't worry. I'm not even in charge of hiring people at NP." He winked. "So she'll only get a job if she's qualified. And tell her that she doesn't even have to try for it—unless she wants to."

Margaret nodded.

"I will put in a good word for her though," he grinned.

"Oh—away with you!" Margaret shooed good-naturedly, but then continued in a more serious tone. "I wish we could see more of you around here."

"I wish I could see you more too, Margaret," Eric said sincerely. "But we both know I'm not invited here often, and even when I am, I'm not exactly welcome."

Margaret sighed. "You will always be welcome in my kitchen," she affirmed.

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek he'd neglected before.

She looked at him intuitively. "You seem happy, Eric."

He looked around to make sure they were still alone. "For the first time in my life, I feel happy too," he shared quietly. "But don't tell; we wouldn't want for that fact to get out."

She nodded. "No one but Markus," she agreed.

"Tell the old man I said goodbye," he said, grabbing the brown bag containing his banana bread.

"I'll tell him just that," she smirked. "I assume you're going to sneak out through the kitchen gate as always?"

Eric nodded and then exited through the kitchen door. He took the path that led past the servants' house, which was a two story dwelling catty-corner to the main house. Markus and Margaret lived in the downstairs section, and Olivia stayed there too when she was in the city. Two fulltime maids and the fulltime gardener lived upstairs. Sigebert and Wybert lived over the garage, which was a separate building at the back of the property, but—thankfully—they were nowhere to be seen. He passed the gardener on his way to the gate and exchanged a nod with him before sneaking out into the alleyway where deliveries to the house were brought. The gate locked from the outside automatically, and Eric checked it before hurrying toward the street.

He glanced down at his watch to see that it was just after 3:00. He smiled, knowing that Sookie would have probably already returned to the museum following her lunch. He smiled even wider, thinking about her walking through the exhibit she'd chosen, carefully reviewing her notes.

For every second he'd been away from Sookie, his body and mind had been aching for her. As he'd spoken to Appius—especially in the office—Eric had imagined her beside him, taking his hand and holding him steady. Every time that he'd felt Appius's stare bore into him from across the table or across the room, it was as if Sookie was there, standing between them and blocking Appius's view of him.

But—mostly—it was the idea of her leisurely strolling through her beloved museum that had gotten him through the uncomfortable time with his family. And now he was just looking forward to seeing her again—though he did pause every now and then just to make sure Appius hadn't had him followed.

Thankfully, he hadn't been.


	50. A Little Music

Chapter 50: A Little Music

Sookie had chosen Gallery 684 for the day because it had been one that she'd planned on skipping—at least when she started visiting the MET each week. The gallery was one of the five rooms of the André Mertens Galleries, which were on the second floor of the MET. They housed musical instruments.

Omitting those galleries from her Sunday visits wasn't because Sookie didn't like music; on the contrary, she'd grown to enjoy listening to CDs or the radio very much since she'd regained her hearing. But the thought of seeing musical instruments—which she'd been mostly barred from interacting with because of her childhood disability—hadn't appealed to her.

In fact—if she were being honest with herself—most musical instruments had frightened her.

As a child growing up in Bon Temps, she'd seen the usual assortment of musical instruments—from a distance, that is. She'd seen an old piano at school and an organ at church. She'd seen drums and trumpets and flutes and other common marching band instruments. She'd even seen a fiddle or two.

The only instrument that she'd ever touched before she played a note on Eric's piano had been a guitar—her father's. Sookie could remember a few times when he'd taken the instrument out of the hall closet on his days off. He'd placed the case carefully on the dining room table and removed the well-used acoustic guitar almost reverently.

Michelle hadn't much appreciated Corbett's playing, and Sookie had read mumbled words of dissatisfaction from her mother's lips, though Michelle had never said anything loud enough for Corbett to hear. Sookie "read" that her father had once been in what Michelle called a "damned-waste-of-time band" and that he should be doing "better things with his time than trying to relive the so-called glory days of his youth." Sookie was glad that her father had never heard her mother's critical words about his playing.

Unlike her mother, Sookie had looked forward to the rare occasions when her father felt relaxed enough to pull out his guitar. When he played, a tranquil smile would touch his lips. She would always sit on the floor on the other side of the room and watch him—not on the area rug that covered most of the living room floor, but on the strip of uncovered wood next to the wall. From her seat, she could feel tiny vibrations from the music, especially when she'd lean against the wall and put her hands flat onto the floor.

She'd held the guitar only once—exactly one month after Corbett died. On that day, Michelle had ordered Sookie to carry the instrument to church, where Michelle was selling it to one of the boys who had always bullied Sookie. Michelle had told Sookie to take the instrument out of its case and had smirked as Sookie reluctantly put it into her classmate's chubby hands.

With the exception of that guitar, Sookie had always looked away from other musical instruments she'd seen—until she saw Eric's piano, that is. She'd imagined each one to be a test of her senses, a test that she couldn't even begin to figure out how to pass. None of the instruments—apart from her father's guitar—had spoken a language she could hear from the lips of the musician. Thus, they'd been a mystery to her until she was seventeen years old when she'd had the surgeries that removed the fluid that had been blocking her hearing and repaired the problem that had caused it.

In addition, she had another reason for disliking musical instruments: her brother.

Sometimes—when Sookie had been commanded into the corner by her mother—Jason had enjoyed taking his trumpet and sneaking up on her before blowing it into her ear. She'd been oblivious to his presence except for the vibration she'd felt against her skin and hair. And, of course, the pain. The vibration from the sound burst would always trigger a negative reaction in her inner ear, one that was quite excruciating. Jason had found the entire operation hilarious—especially when she would curl up on the chair and shake, fearing that he might do it again. He always did. Sookie couldn't help but to wonder if Jason's actions had led to the permanent eardrum damage that still hindered her from hearing sounds above a certain pitch.

Yes. It was safe to say that she'd been a little afraid of—and certainly unnerved by—the musical instruments she'd come into contact with.

However, her fears had all but dissolved when she'd watched Eric playing the piano the Tuesday before. When he'd started playing, she was at the other end of the long room—perhaps trying to maintain a safe distance from the large piano. However, she'd quickly become lost in his music—and in him.

He had left her awestruck—even more than usual. She was able to read the language of the music from his face, even as she listened to it. The muscles in his cheeks and around his eyes had moved subtly, and his body had tensed slightly and then relaxed as he began and finished each phrase—as if his body were writing sentences and his fingers were expressing the intonation of words as he played every note. Though somewhat timid at first, Sookie had been pulled to move closer to him. And he'd not even looked at her funny when she sat down on the wooden floor so that she could feel the vibrations in the room even as she listened with her ears and continued to watch his body and face.

He'd played "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven, and in the song, she'd heard Eric's heart, tugging at hers and crying with hers. Somehow, seeing him play that music had gone farther in healing her than any therapy session she'd ever had with Claudine. The music conveyed—he conveyed—power and powerlessness all at once. It was joyful and woeful. It was everything that she knew Eric was and had been. And it was everything she knew he could be.

And it was her too. It was her right down to the bone.

Eric had played the piece through three times before she'd gotten up and sat next to him on the piano bench. She'd rested her head against his shoulder, which was moving rhythmically with his playing. He didn't mind her presence, and she'd soon felt herself moving with him, being taken elsewhere by the notes. After he'd finished playing the fourth time, he'd led her to their bed, and they'd made love slowly, their bodies finding the same melancholic—though beautiful—melody as the song.

Sookie closed her eyes as she recalled how they'd fallen asleep after they'd both had their releases. It had been the best sleep of her life.

She sighed contentedly and looked down at her notes about Gallery 684. Of the five galleries that made up the musical instruments section, she'd chosen that one for its large size—since she wasn't sure when Eric would be able to join her and she wanted to linger at the MET as long as possible. She smiled a little, vowing to put the numbers of the other galleries in the section into her jar as soon as she could since—suddenly—seeing and learning about the musical instruments didn't seem worrisome at all. In fact, it seemed thrilling.

Sookie had been proud of herself as she'd walked contentedly through the gallery, learning the history of the various instruments, most of which were works of arts in their construction and sound. The museum offered headphones so that visitors could hear the various instruments being played, and—despite a bit of trepidation—Sookie had even ventured to listen to one of the trumpets in the gallery. The sound from the brass instrument had been a little rough and a little harsh, but it hadn't been painful to her.

Though she'd taken notes on several of the instruments, she'd chosen the one for her picture as soon as she'd seen it. It was a harpsichord—both a musical instrument and a beautiful painting. It was Flemish and from the 1600s, and she couldn't help but to imagine Eric playing it. When she'd heard what it sounded like—light tickling notes which seemed to laugh joyfully—she'd been even more certain that the piece was her favorite in the room.

After taking her time in Gallery 684, she'd gone to Gallery 823 to visit the Van Gogh painting that she still considered to be hers and Eric's. She'd left the MET later than usual for lunch, but she figured that would make the afternoon seem shorter—as she waited for Eric.

As usual, Sookie had eaten her lunch in the park, jotting down additional notes about the harpsichord and the other instruments that she'd been interested in and wanted to remember. But mostly she'd thought about Eric. Her heart seemed to be drawn out of her chest that day, almost as if it knew that he was close and that he needed her love to be sent to him over the blocks that separated them.

She sighed. When she'd told Claudine during their Tuesday session that she was almost certainly going to move in with Eric, the therapist hadn't been that shocked, though she had cautioned Sookie that the more she tangled her life with Eric's, the more difficult it would be to untangle. Of course, when Sookie had admitted to Claudine that she was already in love with Eric—in a way that she didn't think she'd ever be in love—Claudine had understood that Sookie was already irrevocably intertwined with Eric.

Knowing that Claudine wouldn't say anything to anyone, even if doctor-patient confidentiality rules weren't in effect, Sookie had—with Eric's permission—confided in her that Eric was a prisoner in his own life. She'd told her of Appius's scheming to get Eric to relinquish the Larsson legacy. She'd also told her a little about Appius's treatment of Eric and the "meetings" that he'd been forced to endure for most of his life.

In addition, Claudine and Sookie had talked about Michelle and the similarities they saw between Appius and Sookie's mother. Michelle, of course, had never doubted Sookie's DNA, but she had decided—even before Sookie's illness had manifested itself—that Sookie was somehow unworthy of her love.

During the session Sookie had made a breakthrough—one that was heightened when she heard the story in Eric's piano playing later that night. At least in his own mind, Appius had a "reason" for treating Eric so badly. It was an awful and spiteful reason, but it was a reason nonetheless. He'd punished a young child for his mother's acts. And he continued that punishment even now. Did Appius have the right to feel betrayed by Stella? Yes—she'd lied to him. Did he have the right to subject Eric to his twisted bitterness? No.

That night, Sookie realized something essential. The defect was with Appius—in Appius. Eric had done nothing wrong.

Sookie had spent her whole life looking for the answer to two questions. "Why did her mother hate her so much? Why was she so unlovable?" Sookie had posited many theories. Maybe Michelle had not wanted to get pregnant a second time. Maybe she was a fussy infant. Maybe her father paid her too much attention. Maybe it was an acute case of the Electra complex. Maybe the disease that affected her hearing had caused Michelle's jealousy to turn into revulsion. Maybe Michelle's mother was the root of the problem. But—by far—the theory that Sookie dwelled upon the most was that there was something about herself that was so fundamentally flawed that even her own mother couldn't love her.

Sookie realized that—like most children of abusers—she had been "trained" by her abuser to see all the "defects" in herself as the cause of her mistreatment.

Sookie sighed deeply. She hated to admit it, but finding a reason why her mother hated her had once mattered to her. But it didn't matter anymore; indeed, she was done dwelling on the supposed faults in herself. She shook her head a little. Why didn't matter! Having a why—after all—didn't justify Appius's abhorrent behavior, so no why in the world could ever justify or explain Michelle's.

Just as Eric had done nothing wrong—Sookie realized that she had been innocent as well. She'd known that before—in her head. But she'd not truly believed it.

Now she did.

As she'd listened to the gripping, melancholic melody of "Midnight Sonata," she'd suddenly seen things so clearly. Her mother was a child abuser—just as Appius was an abuser. It was just that simple. No reason could justify that. No reason could explain it away or make Sookie feel any better about it.

Michelle was the defective one!

Hearing Eric speak about his "meetings" with Appius a few nights before that had helped Sookie in ways she was only beginning to fathom. It had been like hearing herself in some ways. Eric had been scolded and talked to as if he were defective. And he'd been purposely isolated by Appius—not even having a permanent room in his family's home. While Michelle had enjoyed tormenting Sookie every day, Appius's torment had been in neglecting Eric for 363 days of the year and then berating him for the other two. But both parents had actively tried to make their children's lives worse. Both had endeavored to keep their children detached from others—from the world itself. The abusers had tried to take away anything that might have given their children pleasure.

Or hope. Or connection.

And—even as adults—Sookie and Eric had remained isolated in so many ways, segregating themselves from the world.

Trying to protect themselves from more loss.

Neither of them had many friends, but Sookie realized that they "could." She and Eric were both trustworthy, and—though she was still shy—when she tried, she found that others would be her friends. For his part, Eric was naturally charismatic and kind; those things had just been stifled in him—stunted because of Appius's malignancy. Indeed, Eric might not see it, but people were drawn to him and willing to be loyal to him.

Bobby was an example of that. After just one meeting with him, Sookie already knew that he thought of Eric as a brother. But there were others too. It was obvious that Eric had inspired Henry's and Thalia's loyalty. Eric had told her about the staff at Appius's estate too, and several of them obviously thought the world of him. Heck—even Ben's crew at the MET sensed Eric's inherent goodness enough to let him "stalk" her for months!

Once more, Sookie sighed and shook her head. All of the "training" that Michelle and Appius had undertaken with her and Eric had paid off—for the abusers, that is. Eric and she had fallen into their parents' traps and stayed ensnared for a long time. So frightened of losing something good if they got it, they had learned to hide anything that was special to them—especially from themselves—most often avoiding the things that would hurt if they were taken away. As children, they'd both kept the friends they wanted to hold onto a secret. Michelle had known nothing about Tara, and Appius had known nothing about Bobby. And as adults, they'd kept the friends they had at arm's length. Furthermore, the romantic relationships they'd been in before hadn't included true intimacy. They'd avoided attachment, protecting the most vulnerable parts of themselves—with one exception.

They had been unable to stay aloof from each other.

But Sookie's real breakthrough had come when she realized that—though battered emotionally over time—neither Eric nor she had been truly conquered. In truth, they were the ultimate victors. They'd not become like their parents; they wouldn't carry on the cycle. They were stronger than Appius and Michelle combined.

Of course, what had happened in the past would continue to stay inside of Sookie. However, she'd learned something very important; she might have to continue fighting her mother's voice in her head for the rest of her life, but she could fight it. And that voice could only win if Sookie gave up, and she was too strong to do that. It was Eric who had shown her that.

Sadly, with Eric, things were more complicated. He, too, had protected himself from Appius in the ways that mattered most. Showing his inherent strength, Eric had become a good man, despite having a horrible example as a father. Though Eric was afraid to speak of love, he was certainly able to show it—to her, to his siblings, to his mormor, to his friends, and to every single person who worked for him. But he was also still trapped by Appius, and Sookie couldn't figure out a way to get him free—at least not a way that would allow Eric to protect the many people for whom he felt responsible.

Sookie sighed, thinking about the deal that Eric had made with Appius. Something about that contract perplexed her greatly. The deal's first incarnation—the letter that Appius had written by hand—showed his ruthlessness and cruelty. But even that document had included something that Appius had known that Eric wanted: the opportunity to be CEO of NP. And—even if Eric was to be "overseen" by Appius's people—he would have had a livelihood.

Sookie couldn't help but to wonder why Appius would agree to let Eric have anything good.

In fact, she had a lot of questions. Why wasn't Appius planning to give the position of CEO to Nora, whom he clearly favored? Eric had told her that Nora had made clear that she didn't want the job, but Sookie wasn't sold. Even if Nora didn't want the position, Sookie figured that Appius would want to give her the title anyway—and then prop her up with others, who could do most of the work for her.

Her instincts told her that Appius wouldn't want Eric to have even a little happiness—and certainly not any real power at NP. So—why had Appius initiated the deal? And why would he have signed a contract that was good for Eric in a lot of ways? After all, the deal was going to allow Eric to run a company he loved; moreover, Appius would be forced to leave Eric alone unless Eric failed. And Appius wasn't dumb; he had to know that Eric would likely succeed. There would still be the menace of those damned yearly meetings that Eric would have to face; however, he would retain the upper hand at them if the company's profits continued to grow.

Sookie shook her head as she thought of what a miserable bastard Appius Northman really was. She didn't trust him not to have other things up his sleeve for Eric or—at the very least—unknown motives for the contract.

On the other hand, maybe Eric was right; maybe he was too valuable of a resource for Appius to ignore. And the paradox that must have created for Appius was mind-boggling. He wanted for Eric to fail, but he now needed for him to succeed in order to keep the family legacy growing for A.J. In fact, if Appius didn't know in his gut that Eric was going to succeed, he wouldn't allow him to take over as CEO—would he? Yet he still harangued his son whenever he could. Sookie wasn't one to curse much, but the situation was completely fucked up!

Appius Northman was bitter and egotistical. Sookie almost pitied him; Appius had the best person she'd ever met as his son, yet he had rejected Eric.

"No," she said in a whisper. No "why" could ever justified Appius's behavior. But her instincts told her that they needed to find out "why" Appius had wanted to establish a contract with Eric to begin with.

She drummed her fingers against her notebook. Maybe she was looking for hidden motivations with Appius that just weren't there. Maybe she was just trying to understand "why" she and Eric would eventually be driven apart. After all, the contract would also trap Eric into a marriage with a woman that he probably wouldn't love. As much as she hated the thought of him being with anyone else, however, she hoped that Isabel or someone similar to her would agree to an "arrangement" with Eric. With someone like Isabel, he could at least have a friend as his wife. They could have children, and Sookie already knew that he would be an excellent father. Maybe he could even come to love his wife. At least—that's what she hoped for him, no matter how hard it was for her to think about him loving someone else.

She sighed as she closed her notebook. She couldn't blame Eric for making the deal he'd made with his father; she couldn't even blame him for agreeing to the marriage clause. After all, he'd only ever witnessed one marriage based on love—that of his morfar and mormor. Most of the marriages he'd seen throughout his life were—for all practical purposes—merely contracts, not covenants. So the thought of marrying as a condition of a contract likely hadn't seemed odd to Eric at all.

And—since the contract with his father stipulated that Eric had to be married only as long as he was CEO—he could eventually get a divorce if he wanted to. The custody of any children could be shared, and—as with any business arrangement—a "contract" could be drawn up to protect all parties.

The thought of having an arranged marriage on those terms was "cold" to Sookie, but it was also "civilized," and Sookie knew that it was something Eric could live with. In fact, it had probably seemed "safe" to him when he signed the contract. In such an arranged marriage, he wouldn't be required to feel; thus, he couldn't be hurt.

And it wasn't as if Sookie had had significantly different ideas about what a marriage could be like than Eric had. After all, she'd accepted Bill's promise ring, and—even at its best—her relationship with Bill couldn't have been called romantic or passionate. But, then again, she'd never hoped for a sweeping love. She'd wanted only acceptance and some measure of safety. Therefore, had Bill not been duplicitous, she wouldn't have hesitated in settling down with him. She would have settled—just as Eric was planning to "settle."

Of course, the wrench in Eric's life was now her, just as he was the wrench in her life. She knew in her heart that he would give up everything for her—and for them—if it was just himself that he was considering. But it wasn't. It was Pam and his mormor and Gracie and A.J. and Bobby and Godric and everyone else at NP.

Sookie took the last drink of her water. To a big extent, being under Appius's thumb was the only thing Eric had ever known. It was his normal. It was a threshold of pain he'd become familiar with and learned to live with.

She could understand that well. The pain caused by her ear disease had become normal for her. Believing that she was defective had become normal. Being sat in a corner where her "funny uncle" could touch her inappropriately and her mother and brother could torment her had become normal.

What wasn't "normal" for either of them was what they were now experiencing with each other. But Sookie couldn't stop herself from craving that "abnormality." What they felt—together—was as safe as it was anxiety-inducing. What they had was as beautiful as it was doomed. The hopelessness of their situation often hit her, but that strike was never quite as powerful as the hope and the strength that Eric instilled within her.

Sookie got up and walked toward the nearest blue trashcan. Though she'd been swept up in her romance with Eric, she was still no romantic. She had no illusions about their expiration date. She had no aspirations for a fairy tale ending. But she did intend to enjoy her knight in shining armor while she could, and she knew that he would do everything he could to make sure she was not a damsel in distress.

She smiled to herself. If all went according to plan, Eric and she would have years together—years to love each other and to be happy. And she knew that, at the end of those years, she would be healthier for having been with him—not because he'd "saved" her, but because he would help her to continue healing herself. And then—when their time ran out—they would part. There would be heartbreak, of course. But it would have been worth it.

Her smile faded, and she shivered despite the warm temperature as she looked in the direction of Central Park East. She thought about Eric being stuck in Appius's house, and a part of her wanted to run to that opulent estate—to burst through the gilded doors and take Eric away from there. But she knew that if Appius found out about Eric and her, he would do whatever he could to force them to separate sooner than they'd planned. Unfortunately, Appius had a lot to hold over Eric's head to make him do just that. Plus, there was her job to consider. She had no doubt that Appius would make sure she lost it if he found out about her relationship with Eric.

For what must have been the hundredth time, Sookie thought about the possibility of becoming Eric's mistress after he was forced to move on and marry someone else. He'd already made it clear that he wouldn't ask her to do that—that he wanted her to move on and to find happiness with another. But could she really give him up if she could, perhaps, retain a part of him?

She closed her eyes. The thought of holding onto only a small piece of Eric while he was married to and had children with someone else made Sookie's heart ache. And—in that moment—she knew that she couldn't do it. Moreover, Eric wouldn't let her do it—no matter how much he might want to keep her. That kind of "sharing" wasn't in either of them—especially not after the profundity of what they'd shared. They could "settle" with others—but never with each other. Plus, she feared that they would eventually resent each other if she became his mistress; he would hate himself for hurting her, and she might come to hate him because he was tied to someone else. And those thoughts terrified her more than any others.

Sookie was pulled out of her musings when she heard the Delacorte Musical Clock singing out its tune to signal that it was 3:30. Purposely, she'd walked south, instead of west, to have her lunch that day, knowing that that was the direction Eric had taken. She couldn't see the street from where she was inside the park, but she hoped Eric was walking to the museum even then. He'd not known when he could slip away from the family get-together, but she couldn't help the skip of her heart when she imagined him already on his way to the MET. With this in mind, she began her trek back.

As she walked at a steady pace, Sookie thought more about her week living at Eric's house. They'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm, both on the days when they didn't go into the office and on the days when they did. They'd had long talks about serious and light topics—and everything in between. They'd curled up together and watched movies. They'd lain against each other and read together. They'd gone for walks in Riverside Park. They'd continued Sookie's swimming lessons. Every morning and every evening, they'd spent some time on the balcony, enjoying New York as it transitioned into summer. And they'd made love—a lot. She reddened a little at the thought.

They'd also made plans for their trip to Sweden. Sam had been able to give her the entire two weeks off since Pam was insisting that so many projects be finalized before she took her own vacation. And Sookie was already ahead on her current projects; in fact, she'd been purposely holding onto a couple of them to keep her performance rate similar to the others in her department.

Gran had also agreed to travel to Sweden—but just for the first week—since she had an event for the Descendants of the Glorious Dead planned for the week after that. She'd been excited about the prospect of spending time with Sookie, and—though she was a bit hesitant to let someone else pay for her ticket—she had eventually relented after Eric had spoken to her. Gran would actually be arriving the day before Eric and Sookie, so she'd have one day alone with Mormor—and Pam.

Sookie fisted her hands nervously as she picked up her pace a little. She couldn't help but to wonder what Pam would say when she found out that the peculiar girl from the office was dating her brother—let alone living with him! Pam wasn't, after all, a member of the Sookie Stackhouse fan club. Far from it—in fact! With difficulty, Sookie put that thought aside for the time being as she took a few deep, calming breaths. She knew that she could do nothing to control Pam's reaction, and Eric trusted his sister, so Sookie had to as well.

Sookie made herself focus on other things as she turned onto the trail that would lead her back to the MET. She couldn't help but to blush a little as she thought about the appointment she'd had with her gynecologist the previous Wednesday morning. She'd gone ahead and gotten her yearly pap smear completed since she needed to get tested for STDs anyway. Bill and she had always used condoms, but she was making Eric double check, so she would too. She also got a prescription for birth control pills.

Eric had gotten a last-minute appointment with his doctor on Tuesday afternoon, and his test results had already come back negative. Now they were waiting for hers to come back—which was supposed to occur on Tuesday or Wednesday. She'd started her period the night before, and her doctor had told her that if she began taking her pills the Sunday after her menstruation began, they would begin working right away. However, the GYN had also suggested that Sookie use a back-up method for the first couple of weeks she was on the pill—just to be safe.

Friday night, Sookie and Eric had had a frank and blush-inducing conversation—at least for Sookie. They'd decided that they'd use condoms, along with the pill, until they got to Sweden, which would mark the beginning of her third week on the pill. Then they'd forego the little pieces of rubber which had, thus far, kept them from being fully connected.

They'd also discussed Sookie's discomfort with the idea of having sex during her period, and Eric had respected her preference. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from suggesting that they consider shower sex—if she was ever feeling frisky during that time of the month. Sookie had laughed at his apparent eagerness to make love all the time, and he'd been more than happy when she told him that her period generally lasted only three days.

Sookie couldn't help but to smile. That discussion had certainly been the longest one she'd ever had about the nuances of her menstrual cycle, and it had been awkward for her. However, she couldn't help but to be happy that Eric was open to talking about any topic. And—miraculously—she seemed to be able to talk to him about anything. The word "perfect" hadn't been used by Sookie much in her life, but—where Eric was concerned—she found herself thinking it more and more.

Heck—the night before when she'd been having cramps, her "perfect" man volunteered to give her a back rub, which led to a foot rub, which led to a leg rub, which led to some very enjoyable above-the-waist petting and kissing. When she'd unzipped his jeans to give him a release with her hand, his hand had joined hers around his erection. Hands together, they'd slowly stroked him to completion. Despite not having an orgasm of her own, touching Eric—even as he touched himself—had been one of the most erotic things she'd ever done.

Sookie reddened and then grinned as she saw the MET coming into view. Throughout the week—through the moments of embarrassment, through the emotional conversations, through the quiet times of just sitting in the same room, and through the growing pains of learning how to live with someone—Sookie had been the happiest she'd ever been. She was on a road with Eric that most people would have told her not to take, but she'd been labeled "abnormal" all of her life, and—for once—she was glad she was.

As Sookie re-entered the MET at about 3:45, she waved at Milos and John, whom she'd learned liked to be called by his nickname, Jack.

Milos called her over to the guard desk with a gesture of his hand and a wink.

"We sent your man up to the gallery you was in this morning," Jack said in his thick North Jersey accent.

"He's been here five minutes," Milos grinned. "Ben said that if you wanna turn the tables and watch him on the monitors for a while, I could take you to the control room."

Sookie shook her head. "No—but tell Ben I said thanks." Now that she knew Eric was there, she was itching to go up to him.

"Sure thing," Jack said as Milos nodded at her congenially.

Sookie smiled at the two guards as she took her leave of them and quickly crossed to the stairs that would lead her to gallery 684.

Had her legs been as long as Eric's, she would have taken three steps at a time, instead of just two.


	51. Dinner Guests

Chapter 51: Dinner Guests

"Poor, darling fellow—he died of food. He was killed by the dinner table."—Diana Vreeland

Eric/Sookie POV

"Do you need more wine?" Eric asked, a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

"You aren't helping," Sookie chided, wagging her finger at him and then pointing to the vegetables he was supposed to be chopping.

He grinned boyishly and made an obvious show of "helping" by getting back to slicing the carrots Sookie was planning to steam with some broccoli. Meanwhile, she was marinating the salmon that she was going to bake.

"I am helping—see?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She couldn't stop her own grin. "Yes. I see. But I'm not planning to get drunk tonight, especially since it's the night we 'out' ourselves to Pam."

Eric's expression sobered as he stepped over to take Sookie into his arms. "It's going to be okay," he assured, kissing her forehead.

"She already doesn't like me," Sookie pointed out in a strangled tone. "She told Sam last January that she would rather fire me than have to hear one more complaint about me. And now I'm shacking up with her brother."

Eric smiled comfortingly. "Pam hasn't mentioned you in months. And, the last time she did mention you, she told me that she hadn't fired you because you are the best copy editor she's ever seen, so you shouldn't worry so much."

"Eric," she sighed, resting her cheek against his chest, "she thinks I'm weird."

"She thinks I'm weird too," Eric said sincerely. "She's called me antisocial and commitment-phobic more times than I can count. Trust me—in Pam's book—I'll always be just as weird as you could ever be."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"I don't know. Is my telling you the truth making you feel better?"  
She nodded.

"Then yes," he grinned.

After soaking in the refuge of his embrace for a few more minutes, Sookie looked around the kitchen apprehensively. The food was pretty much prepped. Given the fact that Pam was most certainly weight-conscious, Sookie had planned a simple menu of foods that would be both tasty and low-fat. She and Eric had gotten the salmon at the neighborhood fish monger, who was well-known for having the freshest products on the Upper West Side, and the vegetables had come from the stand on the corner. In lieu of a sweet dessert, Sookie had cut up some fresh fruit and whipped up some homemade whipping cream for those who wanted it. She'd also already made up a salad and had opted to keep the homemade vinaigrette on the side so that people could add the amount they wanted.

Eric got a funny look on his face as he leaned away from her a little.

"What?" she asked.

"It's just that I love seeing you working in this kitchen?" he sighed, kissing her again on the forehead.

"If I didn't know you better, I might take that as a sexist remark," Sookie said, trying to expel her anxiety with a little levity.

He chuckled and pulled her closer for another hug.

"Finish the vegetables while I set the table?" she asked after another long minute in his arms.

"Sure," he said, just before stealing a quick kiss from her lips.

Sookie was gathering up the silverware needed when the buzzer sounded. She glanced up at the clock, which read 6:45.

"I'm sure it's just Bobby. Pam is never early," Eric smiled, walking over to the intercom system in the kitchen. There was a similar set-up in most of the rooms in the house.

"Yes?" Eric asked into the speaker.

Henry's voice projected through the intercom. "Good evening, Eric. Bobby's down here. Okay to send him up?"

"Sure. Thanks," Eric answered, drying his hands off with a dishtowel.

Sookie exhaled deeply, her relief clear.

"I'll be right back, min kära," Eric said in a gentle tone as he kissed her cheek.

Sookie nodded and continued to set the table. Unfortunately, the "gray side" contained the only table fit for more than two people, so they would have to utilize that space. Sookie had opted to use the nicer dishes and the fancier silverware for the little dinner party—if it could even be called a party. Undoubtedly, meeting Pam in this context made her even more nervous than throwing a large party would.

She'd just set the last fork in place when she heard Bobby's voice.

"Hey, doll!" he greeted. "How's my favorite lip reader today?"

She smiled at him in return. "Fine. How's my favorite stalker?"

Bobby and Eric both chuckled.

"I'll have you know that I have my license to practice law," Bobby said jokingly.

"And that makes you less of a stalker—how?" Sookie returned.

"Touché," he answered, holding up two bottles of wine: one white and one red. "I figured we could use alcohol tonight."

Sookie nodded and smiled as Eric walked to her side and put his arm around her. He kissed the top of her head and then went back to the kitchen, where he continued chopping the vegetables.

"I see you've domesticated him," Bobby grinned as he leaned over in an exaggerated way to peek into the kitchen.

Sookie chuckled. "He uses the toilet now and everything," she joked, surprising herself that she felt so comfortable around Bobby.

He laughed and held up the wine again. "White or red?"

"We have a bottle open already. It's a Sauvignon Blanc; let's finish that one first—okay?"

Bobby nodded as Sookie took the bottles he brought to the kitchen and got him a glass. She passed by Eric and couldn't resist running her hand along his back as he put the vegetables into a special pot for steaming things. Of course, Eric hadn't really known what that particular pot was for, despite the fact that it had been in the kitchen since he moved in.

"You two disgust me," Bobby said as he leaned against the counter and stole a carrot.

"That's just because you don't have your own girl right now," Eric said, grinning at his friend. In truth, he'd been extremely pleased that Bobby and Sookie had reached a kind of understanding not long after meeting each other. Eric had been worried because Bobby could come off as gruff; however, Sookie hadn't been bothered by his demeanor.

Bobby was the only one in New York―other than Amelia, Claudine, and himself―who knew of Sookie's lip-reading ability. Given the fact that he'd been investigating her, he also knew quite a bit about her past, but Eric trusted Bobby to keep quiet about what he knew.

"Well—Claudine told me something interesting on Tuesday," Sookie said with a grin, still trying to distract herself from her anxiety over Pam coming over.

"What's that?" Bobby asked.

"She said that you were her favorite cousin," Sookie responded as she put the fish into the oven.

Bobby chuckled. "I'm her only cousin."

"She said that too," Sookie giggled.

"Plus," Bobby added, stealing another carrot that had been left out of the pot, "We aren't exactly cousins. Her grandfather and my grandmother, Mary Brigant, were siblings. Mary married Robert Burnham, and they had my dad, Godric. So our fathers were cousins. I guess that makes us second cousins or first cousins, once removed or something. Who knows?"

Eric shrugged. "I have no idea how the cousin thing works, so don't ask me."

"So Claudine and you have different grandparents?" Sookie asked.

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed. "My dad's parents died before I was born though, so I always thought of Niall as my grandfather. But he's actually my great-uncle."

"I can't believe Claudine's a triplet," Sookie commented.

Bobby chuckled. "Hearing Aunt Mary tell it—uh that's what I call Niall's daughter, whom he named after my grandmother, actually—she still can't believe she carried three kids in her at the same time. And—let me tell you—she still goes on about it at almost every family function. Actually, we place bets on how long it will take her to mention it."

Sookie giggled.

"And God only knows how she and Uncle Jasper decided on their names." He shook his head. "Claudine, Claudette, and Claude? How unoriginal!"

"Not really diverse," Eric agreed.

"The name Niall Brigant sounds kind of familiar," Sookie observed.

"Niall was big in pharmaceuticals until he retired and let Aunt Mary and her husband, Jasper Crane, take over," Bobby informed. "If Niall didn't continuously donate money for medical research, he'd be as rich as Bill Gates! He's still loaded though; most of his investments have paid off big time. He has an eye for recognizing potential."

Sookie added water to the vegetables and put them on the stove.

Bobby continued, "My branch of the family, on the other hand, was always just kind of wealthy." He laughed a little. "Of course their definition of 'kind of wealthy' is still pretty goddamned rich!"

"Brigant Pharmaceuticals," Sookie said in recognition. "I thought I recognized the name."

Bobby smiled. "Niall was—is—actually kind of brilliant. So is Aunt Mary. Claudine decided to become a psychologist—as you know. But Claudette works for Niall's business too, though Aunt Mary and Uncle Jasper run it now. Claude, the youngest of the triplets, is sort of the black sheep of the family—except for me," he chuckled.

"Why?" Sookie asked. "What does Claude do?"

Bobby grinned. "He's owns a strip club in the Village called Hooligans. And he's the main attraction."

"Oh," Sookie said as she shook the salad dressing, just to give herself something to do.

Just then the buzzer sounded again. This time when Eric answered it, Pam was speaking.

"Dammit, Eric, the damn elevator won't let me into your place? What the fuck? The stupid key pad's not working!"

"Um," Eric stammered, "I'm sure it's just a glitch."

"Well," Pam said impatiently, "don't make me stand in this elevator all night!"

Eric chuckled. "I'm unlocking it now, Pam. Just come on through to the kitchen."

Sookie heard a huffing noise as the intercom went dead.

"Shit," Sookie said to herself, although both of the men in the room could hear her.

Eric walked over to her and gave her a quick kiss, as the sound of Pam's heals could be heard even against the carpet of the "gray area."

Bobby gave Sookie a wink and then stepped out into the dining room area so that Pam would see him first.

"Why Bobby Burnham. What the hell are you doing here?" Pam said with snark as Sookie stayed pressed nervously against Eric's side.

"I was invited to dinner—just like you, Pammy."

Eric looked down at Sookie to make sure she was okay. "Remember—those two will keep each other busy," he whispered.

She nodded. It was Eric's description of Bobby and Pam's love-hate relationship that had ensured that Bobby made the invitation list for the dinner. Eric had told Sookie that the two had "hooked up" on occasion—but only when Pam was in the mood for the male gender, which wasn't that often. Bobby had become her go-to guy of sorts.

Eric took a firm hold of Sookie's hand and led her out into the dining room.

"Hey," Eric said, by way of greeting as Pam looked at Sookie and tried to process what she was seeing.

"Why is that in your house?" she asked pointing at Sookie. "And why isn't she wearing shoes?" Pam demanded, looking down at Sookie's bare feet.

"Sookie is no that, Pam," Eric growling warningly. "And you are in our home because I wanted to officially introduce you to my girlfriend—to the woman who's going to be living with me as of tomorrow," Eric continued in a clipped tone.

Sookie had turned pale and was biting her lip nervously, even as Pam was looking back and forth between Eric and Sookie in disbelief.

Pulling herself out of her apparent shock, Pam walked over to Bobby and took his wine, downing the half a glass that was left in one long gulp.

"Explain!" Pam ordered just as the oven timer dinged to signal that it was time to turn the salmon.

"Um—hi, Ms. Northman," Sookie stammered as she pulled her hand from Eric's. "I'll just—uh—check dinner," she said, practically running back into the kitchen. Eric was right on her heels.

Before he even saw her face, he knew that tears were gathering in her eyes.

"Sookie?" he said gently, as he watched her open the oven and tend to the fish. After closing the oven door, she stayed still in front of the appliance, not able to turn around to face him.

"Please," she whispered. "Just give me a second."

She heard Eric's own bare feet going back to the dining room and then heard him ask Bobby to keep an eye on the food before he came back into the kitchen and gently took Sookie's hand. He quickly led her to the utility room and through the hidden door to the foyer before walking with her to their bedroom and then out onto the terrace, which he knew was her favorite place. The night was warm and still—quiet for Manhattan.

Sookie looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I'm a that, Eric," she whispered.

"No," he said forcefully. "You are Sookie Stackhouse, and you are smart and funny and amazing and brave. You are also the woman that I want to be with. You make me feel good—happy. And Pam will either come to recognize that, or she won't be able to be around us."

"What if she tells Appius?" Sookie asked fearfully. "What if she thinks I'm so beneath you that she tells?"

"She won't if she wants to keep her brother," Eric answered soberly. "And she wouldn't. I know Pam. She's just surprised. And she's a snob. I'm sure that Bobby's putting her in her place even as we speak."

"Eric," she whispered as she buried her face into his chest. "I should put shoes on."

He chuckled. "We never wear shoes in the house, min kära."

"I know," she said. "Still—I think I want them tonight."

"We'll both wear them," he whispered, leading them into the house and then into the walk-in closet. He pulled out a pair of casual sandals to put on, even as she grabbed her ballet flats. She had dressed up a little and was wearing a patterned maxi dress in a variety of shades of blue. She looked into the mirror.

"Have I told you that you look beautiful?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she said with a little smile.

"Well you do," Eric assured as he took her hand. "Sookie?" he said speaking more forcefully than he usually did.

"Yes?"

"Pam is the guest here. This is our home. It's mine and it's yours."

She squared her shoulders a little. "Okay."

They walked hand in hand back into the dining room, where Pam was working her way through another glass of wine. Bobby emerged from the kitchen with a triumphant look.

"Nothing's burning yet!" he proclaimed.

Sookie couldn't help but to laugh a little.

"Sorry if leaving you in charge of a pot for five minutes gave you too much stress," Eric said lightly. "However, Sookie's feet were a bit cold, so we grabbed shoes." He gave Pam a scolding look, even as Bobby moved behind her and nudged her a little.

Pam looked at Sookie and sighed. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Susanna. I was just," she paused, "surprised to see you. That's all," she said stiffly as if she'd been given a script.

Eric nodded at Pam. He had come to know his sister well, which meant that he knew just how rarely she apologized; he just wished that it had sounded more sincere.

"Um—it's okay, Ms. Northman," Sookie said a little meekly.

Pam sighed. "Bobby told me that you and Eric wanted to keep your relationship a secret—though I don't understand why," she said a little haughtily.

Bobby nudged her again.

Pam glared at him for a moment before looking back at Sookie. "Anyway, I suppose I will have to remain Ms. Northman if you address me at work—which you never have, so it's probably a moot point. In private, however, you may call me Pam."

"Thanks," Sookie said. "I'd like that. I like to be called Sookie—if you don't mind."

Pam gave Sookie the slightest of nods and then looked at Eric. She spoke cautiously. "I really don't understand why you felt the need to keep this relationship a secret from me. I know that Father will disapprove—no offense Sookie," she added, trying the unfamiliar name for the first time, "but it's not like he cares about what you do, Eric."

"Caring about me and caring about what I do are two very different things," Eric said enigmatically.

"What do you mean?" Pam asked.

Eric glanced at Sookie nervously, and it was her turn to offer comfort. He'd decided earlier in the week that it was time to tell Pam some hard truths about his relationship with Appius and about their mother.

"We'll talk after dinner—okay?" he asked somewhat nervously as Sookie squeezed his hand.

Pam POV

Despite her curiosity, Pam nodded in agreement. Given the nervous, beseeching look Eric was shooting her, she didn't have the heart to ask all of the questions that were currently swirling in her head. Most of all, she wanted to ask her brother what the fuck he was doing playing house with the mousy—and fucking peculiar—copy editor? How in the fuck did she—of all people—get her hooks into him?

Pam felt Bobby's hand on her shoulder. His grip managed to be both a warning and a comfort to her. When Eric and Sookie had disappeared for a while, he'd read her the riot act, telling her that she needed to be nice to Susanna—or Sookie, as she apparently wanted to be called now.

Of course, Pam had tried to argue with Bobby, demanding to know why her brother was shacking up with "the help"—someone who probably just wanted his money.

At that, Bobby had growled at her in a way that was almost feral. Pam had considered both jumping him and running from him in that moment. However, she'd opted for trying to get answers about how her brother could be serious enough about someone to let her move in—all without Pam knowing a damned thing about the relationship.

Bobby had told her something that she was having a very hard time believing: that Sookie Stackhouse was the best thing that had ever happened to Eric.

Pam couldn't help but to stare at her brother and Sookie with curiosity. They were looking at each other, almost as if they were in a bubble. Pam had seen Eric with women before—usually those whom he'd escorted to one function or another. Except for Isabel Edgington, they'd seemed interchangeable in Pam's eyes: flavors of the moment. Pam understood that kind of "relationship" well. In fact, her longest relationship was with the man who now gripped her shoulder—that is, if a recurring "booty call" could be called a relationship.

She and Bobby had first gotten together after Eric's gradation from Harvard Business School. In fact, as Eric had given his speech, Pam had snuck her hand under the coat in Bobby's lap in order to "check out the goods," so to speak. Of course, Pam preferred women—both then and now. However, she enjoyed the diversity that an occasional dalliance with a man could bring her. And Bobby was exceptional in that he was the only man she'd fucked more than once. Truth be told, Pam enjoyed Bobby's company as much as the sex, and the sex was pretty damned phenomenal. She'd rarely found a man who knew how to properly go down on a woman, a fact which she'd told Bobby right before he did it to her for the first time. He'd taken her words as a challenge, and in his "thoroughness," he'd stayed between her legs for so long that he should have needed a scuba mask and a snorkel. But he'd more than proven his prowess. In fact, Pam now judged all of her lovers' oral skills against Bobby's.

Despite Bobby being pretty much the perfect man for her, Pam just couldn't see herself committing to him beyond their occasion nights together. He'd hinted that he wanted something more serious a few times, and she'd really considered it. Despite his slightly unkempt appearance and his ridiculously under-furnished home, Bobby was quite a catch. If she'd been surprised to learn that he was from "old" money, she'd been floored when he told her that he was related to Niall Brigant. Even her father would have been forced to give his approval!

However, maybe she liked Bobby so much because he seemed anything but wealthy! He didn't behave at all like the men in Pam's usual circle, who thought that they were entitled to anything—or anyone—that they wanted. Indeed, Bobby acted more like a detective from some cop movie than a trust fund kid. But, more importantly, Pam genuinely liked him; she enjoyed both his wit and his refusal to take shit from her. And she trusted him. So she'd carefully pondered his offer to commit. She'd even gone so far as to contemplate what it would be like to have a family with him.

However, Pam knew herself. She would have eventually cheated on him with a woman, and she didn't want to hurt him. Pam had no illusions when it came to her own shortcomings. She'd always had a short attention span when it came to lovers.

She'd thought that her eldest brother was the same way.

Hell—the office rumor mill used to buzz constantly about her brother's sex 'em and leave 'em reputation. In fact, a couple of women in her own department had ridden on the Eric Northman Express. But they'd only ridden once.

Only recently had the gossip about Eric's promiscuity tapered off. But that was because he had been seeing Isabel—or so Pam thought.

However, Pam had never seen Eric looking at Isabel or any other woman the way he was looking at Sookie. And she'd never seen him hold hands with one. But there Eric was—holding both of Sookie's hands and having some kind of silent conversation with her. Mesmerized, Pam watched as Sookie smiled up at Eric. The height difference between them was almost laughable as Sookie rose up onto her toes and he leaned down so that she could kiss his cheek. However, immediately after that kiss was given, the tension seemed to leave Eric's shoulders.

"I should go check the salmon," Sookie said, still looking at Eric only.

Pam watched as Eric leaned down to kiss Sookie's forehead. And that's when she noticed how truly different Eric looked. Usually, his jaw was set tightly and his expression controlled. Pam had always interpreted that as "Eric being Eric." And she'd assumed that it was just his personality to be serious all the time. However, in that moment, his face was relaxed—serene even. There was a lightness in his expression and in his eyes as he smiled softly at the woman in front of him as if there were no one else in the room.

"I'll go with you and open more wine," Eric said as they walked together into the kitchen, still hand-in-hand.

Pam tilted her head a little as they went out of sight.

"I told you," Bobby whispered from behind her.

She brushed his hand off her shoulder and turned around to face her on-and-off-again lover. "What?" she asked, still having mixed feelings about the whole situation.

"She's good for him," Bobby said, still in a low tone so that Eric and Sookie wouldn't hear. "And he's happy. So don't."

"Don't what?" she asked.

"Don't do anything to offend Sookie."

Pam frowned. "I wouldn't," she started.

His eyes full of skepticism, Bobby interrupted her. "Oh—yes you would. But—just this once—don't say the first thing that pops into your head—okay." He sighed. "Just wait and then listen to what Eric has to say after dinner. And—in the meantime—be nice." He smirked. "In other words, don't be yourself."

Pam scoffed and pushed his shoulder a little. "I am nice," she insisted quietly.

"When?" he questioned, his smirk even more pronounced.

"I recall being very nice to you about three weeks ago," she returned, her hands finding his hips.

He licked his lips and leered at her. "That you were, Pammy. That you were. Would you like to be nice to me again later?"

She rolled her eyes. "You wish."

He just laughed as she pushed herself away from him.

Eric/Sookie POV

In the kitchen, Sookie went about checking both the salmon and the vegetables as Eric uncorked both of the bottles Bobby had brought since the already-opened bottle had been drained. Without asking her, he poured Sookie another glass, knowing that she had been suffering from both nerves and menstrual cramps all day. This time, she took it gratefully.

"Just make sure I don't get drunk?" she whispered to him.

"I promise," he whispered back before pouring a glass for himself.

"And you shouldn't get drunk either," she said with a little grin.

"I promise," he repeated with a wink.

Chuckling, Sookie pulled the salmon out of the oven and then moved the pieces to a fancy serving dish, even as Eric got the salad from the refrigerator.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Sookie nodded, took a deep breath, and followed Eric into the dining room.

"You can have a seat anywhere at the table," Eric said to Bobby and Pam.

Bobby pulled a chair out for Pam. "Do you two need any help?" he asked.

"Um—no thanks," Sookie responded as she put the platter of fish on the table. Eric placed the salad down next to the platter. "We just need to get the vegetables and bring in the wine," she added before retreating back into the kitchen.

Pam POV

Again, Pam couldn't help but to notice the sense of closeness and—for lack of a better term—"domesticity" between Eric and his apparent roommate. She still couldn't quite understand how Eric was suddenly living with Susanna Stackhouse—of all people! What had happened to Isabel? Pam had thought that they were contemplating marriage!

"What's he doing?" she asked Bobby in a low voice.

"For the first time in his life, he's trying to be happy," Bobby returned, even as he glanced toward the kitchen to make sure neither Eric nor Sookie was in earshot.

"Eric's always been happy," Pam insisted, even though—for the first time—she took a moment to wonder if that were true.


	52. What Makes a Brother

Chapter 52: What Makes a Brother

"Brothers don't necessarily have to say anything to each other; they can sit in a room and be together and just be completely comfortable with each other."—Leonardo DiCaprio

Bobby POV

Bobby raised an eyebrow as he looked at Pam disbelievingly. He could only guess what Eric intended to tell her after dinner. However, in his opinion, it was high time that Pam knew more about her father's dark side. Bobby loved Eric like a brother, and he knew just how difficult it was for him to open up about anything, but he'd thought that Pam needed a shot of the truth for a while now. In fact, Bobby had almost told her what he knew a couple of times, but—in the end—it wasn't his story to tell.

Moreover, the last thing Bobby wanted to do was to break Eric's trust—not when it had been so fucking hard to earn in the first place.

Bobby was just thankful that Sookie's presence seemed to have been the catalyst Eric needed to pull himself out of his hollow existence.

He took a deep breath and then sat down next to Pam before taking her hand again. "Eric has always been good at hiding the fact that he's not happy."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, almost as if affronted. "I know that he and Daddy don't get along. But Eric's perfectly happy."

Bobby sighed. "Just remember to be nice to Sookie. And let Eric be the one to tell you what he needs to say, Pam," he said in a hushed tone.

Pam looked at him with frustration. "What in the fuck are you talking about, Bobby? You're scaring me."

Bobby gave her a little smile and leaned in to kiss her softly. His heart lurched a little—as it always did when he was around her. He couldn't help but to wish that things could be different between them, but he also recognized that their friendship would likely come to a bitter end if they ever attempted a monogamous relationship. Pam might have been bisexual on paper, but Bobby knew she preferred women. That was just the way things were. And Bobby was not one of those delusional men who thought that his "super cock" could "convert" her. Hell—as a lover of women himself—Bobby couldn't even blame Pam for her preference!

However, as liberal as he might be, when Bobby was with someone, he was with only that someone. And he demanded the same kind of faithfulness in return. Pam, he knew, couldn't give him—or any man—that kind of commitment.

"Don't be scared, Pammy," he said as he tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. "It's going to be okay. I promise. And I'll be right next to you all night—however you need me."

"Bobby, stop being so fucking nice! Or you really are going to freak me out!"

"I'm sorry, Pammy," he said sincerely.

Her back stiffened a little as she made a clear effort to conceal her rising apprehension. "I've told you not to call me 'Pammy'—Robert!" she said, changing the subject.

Bobby fake-pouted. "But you hit me when I call you 'sweetheart.' Or 'baby.' Or 'darling.' Or 'muffin.' Or 'sugar.'"

She scoffed and shoved his shoulder. "That's because I don't do pet names."

Bobby grinned devilishly. "Oh—that's a good idea! I can call you 'pet.'"

This time she smacked his shoulder—hard. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"Everyone behaving?" Eric asked with a chuckle as he came into the room carrying a bottle of wine and his and Sookie's glasses. Sookie was following right behind with the steamed vegetables.

"It smells great!" Bobby said enthusiastically, as he gave Pam a look that implored her to keep her waspishness to herself—at least until after the meal.

Though she was glaring at him, Pam nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes," Pam said, "everything looks delicious."

"Thanks," Sookie said shyly as Eric pulled out her chair for her.

Soon everyone was passing the food and filling their plates.

"So," Pam said after a few minutes of silent eating, "how long have you two been together?"

"Pam," Bobby said warningly as he gently squeezed her knee under the table.

"What?" Pam asked with exasperation. "I can't ask anything?"

Eric swallowed noticeably. "It's fine. We've been together for two weeks, give or take six months," he answered as he shared a look with Sookie, who smiled softly at him, her cheeks pinking up a bit.

Obviously both confused and surprised by Eric's answer, Pam looked ready to follow up, but sensing that a snide remark was on the tip of her tongue, Bobby kicked her shin.

"Ouch!" Pam said, glaring at him.

Bobby gave her a winning smile. "Sorry about that."

"What happened?" Eric asked.

"I accidentally kicked Pam under the table," Bobby said with fake contrition. "You know how my knee sometimes twitches." He looked at Sookie and winked. "It's an old baseball injury."

"I bet you never even played baseball," Pam muttered under her breath.

"So, Eric—speaking of baseball—did you catch the Mets game last night?" Bobby asked, obviously changing the subject.

The meal had progressed somewhat awkwardly, with smatterings of conversations about sports, the play Pam had seen the weekend before, Eric's deal with the Chinese publishing house, and Sookie's Gran. Bobby'd had to give Pam a few more warning squeezes and one more kick, but she had, thus far, kept her most caustic remarks to herself—which was, indeed, "nice."

For Pam.

Bobby couldn't help but to once again notice the general contentment on his friend's face, despite the uncomfortable situation. Bobby had known Eric for over 20 years, but the first time he'd ever seen his friend's eyes displaying contentment had been four days before. Eric had asked Bobby over for a drink so that they could strategize about how to keep Appius Northman from learning about Eric and Sookie's relationship.

Bobby stifled his sneer when he thought of Eric and Pam's father. He didn't know everything about Eric and Appius's dysfunctional relationship, but he did know that Appius had done a lot of damage to his friend. And, of course, Bobby had his own reasons for hating Appius.

Though Bobby kept one ear on the conversation to make sure that Pam continued to behave herself, he let his mind drift a little when she started talking about Paris fashion week.

Bobby had met Eric when they were ten and six years old, respectively. Bobby had been visiting his father, Godric, for the Thanksgiving break. His dad, whose house was on the property of the school where he was the headmaster, had asked him to hang out with a kid who hadn't gone home for the holidays. At first, Bobby hadn't wanted to spend time with the much younger Eric.

In truth, Bobby wasn't his dad's biggest fan at the time. Bobby's mother had remarried only the month before that, and the ten year old blamed Godric for not trying to get his mom back. To make matters worse, that was also the year that Godric had told Bobby that he was gay and introduced him to his long-time boyfriend. Bobby had had a difficult time accepting that knowledge at first, mostly because he was jealous of his father spending time with someone else—especially when Bobby hardly ever got to see him. And he was also jealous of Eric, who got to see Godric year-round.

To get away from his father, however, Bobby relented, and, each day of his vacation, he would go to the dorm where Eric stayed and knock on the six-year-old boy's door. Bobby's first impression of Eric was that he was a gangly, shy kid with skin so pale that he almost looked sickly. Without saying anything, Eric would follow Bobby to the dorm's common room where there were video game consoles set up. Bobby would play for two or three hours to placate his dad; meanwhile, Eric would read a book in the corner of the room.

A few days into his week-long holiday, Bobby got tired of playing by himself and told Eric he had to play. And, then, because Eric had never played video games before, Bobby taught him what to do. Surprisingly, Eric had quickly become good at the game and gave Bobby a challenge.

However, the two hadn't talked much, and—content to brood—Bobby was glad about that. The same pattern followed when Bobby came for Spring Break and then the next Thanksgiving.

By the second Spring Break that Bobby knew Eric, his anger toward his father had faded, and he finally coaxed the shy boy into more conversation. Bobby still did most of the talking, but it was less boring than just being quiet all the time.

It was a couple of years after that when Bobby thought to ask Eric why he didn't go home for the holidays, and the then ten-year-old Eric had looked him in the eye and matter-of-factly told him that he didn't have a home. Bobby had thought that meant Eric was an orphan, and he gave the kid his sympathies. But Eric told him that he still had a father, but that he wasn't a good son, so his father didn't want him.

Eric's words and stoicism had struck the then fourteen-year-old Bobby. Sure—Bobby had had problems with his own dad, but he'd recognized by then that Godric had always tried to be a good father to him, even going so far as to stay in Montana—where Bobby lived with his mother, stepfather, and new stepsibling—for most of the summer just to spend more time with him.

Over the years, Bobby learned a little more about Eric as his friendship with the younger boy grew slowly. Though Eric would talk about sports or academics, he didn't mention any friends. In fact, when Godric told Bobby that he was probably the closest friend Eric had ever had, Bobby had been shocked since they spent only two weeks out of the year hanging out, and—even then—Eric stayed in his dorm room quite a bit.

After that, Bobby had become even more curious about Eric. He eventually learned that Eric spent his winter breaks at his father's home in Manhattan, which was where Bobby moved for college when he was eighteen.

Eric was fourteen by then and had moved to Exeter Academy. However, Godric and Bobby drove to Exeter to collect Eric for the whole Thanksgiving break that year. Spending the week in the same house, the two teens had gotten closer. However, when Bobby said that they should hang out when Eric came to Manhattan for winter break, Eric had gotten a fearful look in his eyes. When Bobby asked what was wrong, Eric had simply shaken his head and become more withdrawn again.

This time, Bobby had followed up on Eric's strange behavior by talking to his father. It was then that Godric confided in Bobby about how he had falsified the "reports" he was required to give to Appius Northman. And he'd told Bobby why he'd done it too: to keep Appius from taking away the few things in life that Eric enjoyed doing.

After Eric turned eighteen, Bobby was aware that his friend was never invited to stay at his family's home during the winter holidays again. So—after Eric's freshman year when he'd tried to stay on his own in Boston and had gotten robbed and beaten up for his trouble—Eric had spent his winter breaks from Harvard at Bobby's place in New York. The only exception was the year when Bobby's newly-purchased apartment was being gutted and renovated. That year, they'd spent most of the break in the Hamptons at Niall's estate, which was where Godric generally spent Christmas too.

Except for Christmas day, Eric never went to Appius's house. And Bobby could tell that his friend dreaded the little time he did spend with his father; however, the short visit was clearly not optional. And it was also not something that Eric would talk about.

Other than that one day a year, Bobby was pretty sure that—while Eric was in college and business school—he didn't have any contact with his father at all. Hell—while Bobby and Godric had attended Eric's high school, college, and graduate school graduations, Appius had not been to a single one! Pam had attended the last one, which was how Bobby had met her, but he still didn't personally know anyone else in Eric's family—except for Appius, whom he'd rather not have ever met.

That's why Bobby had been surprised when Appius gave Eric a big-time position at Northman Publishing immediately after his graduation from Harvard Business School. Bobby had figured that—if Appius actually gave Eric a job—it would be in the mailroom. The only explanation that Bobby could come up with for Appius's "generosity" was that Appius must have had the skewed notion that—by being tough on Eric all his life—he'd somehow prepared him to jump headfirst into the business world. For Eric's sake, Bobby had hoped that Appius would become more "decent" after Eric joined the company. And, for a while, that had seemed to be the case.

For his part, Bobby had gotten a law degree from NYU and had easily passed the bar; however, he'd opted not to practice law in a traditional sense. He was lucky in that he didn't have to. He had a generous trust fund from Niall, a fund that he'd barely touched, so he was free to do what he wanted, instead of working in some office building for seventy hours a week like some lawyers he knew. He preferred to be more active and to set his own schedule, so he only took work he wanted.

On his income tax forms, Bobby labeled himself as a "Legal Consultant," which was true in some ways. He did "consult" for several law firms in the city; it was just that the kind of consulting he did sometimes skirted the lines of legality. He also "consulted" for the NYPD and a few government agencies, and he'd become extremely good about acquiring the kind of information that could earn him a lot of money and favors. He was even known to "consult" for a few of the less violent mob factions in the Boroughs. In fact, his contacts at that NYPD knew that he "associated" with them, and Bobby was often utilized as an intermediary of sorts. However, despite all this, Bobby had become extremely adept at keeping his name and his ass out of any potentially dangerous situations.

In truth, the only client that Bobby really "practiced" law for was Eric, although—when it came to business law—Eric was much savvier than Bobby would ever be. However, Bobby had helped his friend draft his contract with Appius, so he knew all about the marriage clause, and he knew that Sookie didn't fit the requirements of it—not by a longshot.

Bobby would never forget the day he'd found Eric in the rather seedy hotel he'd gone to after he'd been pretty much kicked out of the apartment he'd been using at Northman Tower. Bobby had been pissed off at Eric for not telling him where he was staying and for basically being off the grid for the better part of a week.

By then, Godric's cancer had become advanced, and he was living in Niall's Manhattan residence since the best oncologist in the area was at Niall's hospital in the city. Eric had been going with Godric and Bobby to Godric's chemotherapy treatments. And having Eric—whom Godric thought of as a second son—there had always make Godric rest easier. When Eric hadn't shown up or offered an explanation for his absence, Bobby had been very angry—at least initially.

However, after trying to call Eric for two days, Bobby had become just as worried as he was furious. He'd gone to Northman Tower, where he'd learned that Eric was "on vacation." Bobby's next step had been to bribe the head of security at Northman Tower—a greedy asshole named John Quinn—so that he could find out when Eric had last left the building. Luckily, Eric had taken a taxi. Even luckier, Quinn let Bobby look at the surveillance footage so that Bobby could get the cab number—after Bobby gave the asshole a couple hundred more bucks, that is.

From there, Bobby had tracked the cabby down, and after another small bribe, he'd learned where Eric had been dropped off. One more bribe later, and Bobby was being let into Eric's room, where he found his friend passed out on the floor and reeking of cheap liquor. Bobby had found the letter from Appius when he was struggling to carry Eric to the shower—since shaking and slapping him had failed to wake him up.

The letter had made Bobby furious. Not only was Appius a cruel, sadistic bastard with Eric, but he'd also threatened Bobby's father—who was, even then, struggling to stay alive! Bobby had wanted to kill Appius—or at least expose the fact that he was trying to blackmail his own son! But Eric's haunted look when he finally sobered up gave Bobby pause.

That day, Eric had opened up to Bobby—at least a little. He'd told him about the fucked-up paternity test. He'd told him about how he'd lost Larsson Publishing. He'd told him about the hours when he hoped that Peder Larsson was his father. And he'd asked for Bobby's help.

Despite his many reservations, Bobby had relented. He and Eric had written the first response to Appius's letter—the first draft of the contract—over a bottle of tequila that had miraculously survived Eric's binge. Thankfully, they'd not sent that particular document to Appius, or they'd probably both be in jail right now. Bobby didn't remember a lot about it, but he did recall that it had contained a lot of interesting uses of the word "fuck." And he also recalled that he'd wanted to deliver it to Appius with his fists using a special kind of Morse Code he and Eric had developed about three-fourths of their way through the large bottle.

Once they'd sobered up, they drafted a second response, which they personally delivered to Appius's office at Northman Publishing on the day of Eric's "deadline." Hell—Bobby had even worn a suit—though he'd not given his name to Appius when asked. Neither Eric nor Bobby wanted Appius to know that he was a Burnham. The dumbass goons, Sigebert and Wybert, had tried to follow Bobby to learn more about him after that first meeting, but they'd been easy enough to ditch.

After that, there had been several other meetings between Appius, Eric, Bobby, and Neave and Lochlan Faeman. And—finally—they'd reached a bargain that Eric felt he could live with. Bobby hated the fact that Eric didn't tell his father to go to hell about the whole thing, but after meeting Appius Northman, Bobby began to understand, and he didn't doubt for a moment that Appius would do all he could to destroy his eldest son and anything he cared about. And, in the end, Eric had seen the contract as almost a blessing since it protected him to a certain extent.

Bobby had anticipated the danger of the marriage clause, but Eric had been so certain that it didn't matter that Bobby eventually stopped trying to talk Eric into challenging it and simply worked to make the document more palatable in other ways. Eric was more worried about the clause concerning his future children anyway, and—after a lot of haggling—they'd managed to limit the influence Appius might have on them.

Seeing Eric and Sookie together now, Bobby felt incredibly guilty for the mistake he'd let Eric make. There was no way that the Stackhouses were in the fucking Social Register.

Bobby took a gulp of his wine. In truth, it had been giving up half of the stock that his paternal grandfather had left him that had upset Eric the most about the contract at first. Eric felt that he was betraying John Northman, who'd tried to do so much for him. And it didn't help that Eric felt that he'd already let down his maternal grandfather by losing Larsson Publishing.

Thus, when NP had gone public, Bobby had snatched up 4.9% of the company—just under the amount that would require him to disclose his stock ownership. And he'd bought the stock with the money his father had left him too. He liked knowing that he had the ability to give Eric back some of what he'd lost. And he knew that Godric would like that too.

After telling Eric about his purchase, Bobby had made it clear to his friend that the NP stock was his any time he wanted or needed it. Bobby knew that Eric would insist upon paying for it if that time ever came, but he didn't really care about the money. He just wanted to give a big, fat "fuck you" to Appius Northman.

Eric had recovered the rest of his lost 7% when he purchased another 2.1% of NP stock using some of the money he had inherited from his paternal grandfather. Actually, the stock was purchased by Elsa Larsson, but it was with money Eric had given her. And—again—she didn't own enough stock to have to disclose. Somehow having that 7% back made Bobby feel good—very good. He just hoped that Eric felt the same and no longer harbored guilt over letting down both of his grandfathers.

Bobby hoped to one day be there when Appius realized that his plans to take away all of Eric's legacy were shown not to have worked. He wanted to see Appius's face. Hell—Bobby would have kept buying up NP stock, but Eric had asked him not to. He didn't want Bobby in Appius's line of fire any more than he'd already been.

Bobby sighed when he once again thought about all the damage Appius had caused to Eric over the years; he couldn't fathom the kind of pain Eric had been through. Bobby used to feel sorry for himself—that he was so far away from his father when he was growing up. He used to resent both of his parents for not staying married. And he begrudged them when they began other relationships. But he had never doubted their love for him; as a kid, he'd simply been greedy for a traditional family.

However, Eric had been manipulated and abused by his father. And the worst part was that it was still going on! The contract—they had thought—would at least ensure that Eric was no longer toyed with too much.

However, Appius's interference in Eric's life was still pretty bad in Bobby's book. Despite being in control of his own division at NP, Eric still jumped whenever his father asked for reports, and Eric bent over backwards to accommodate anything Appius "suggested." Still—at least, Eric had learned how to stand up to his father a little. Bobby was proud of his friend—very proud—for he knew that the effects of abuse couldn't be overcome with the snap of one's fingers or the signing of a contract.

Bobby sighed. Appius was a master at manipulating Eric because—at the end of the day—Eric still wanted his father's love. Nothing had demonstrated Eric's desire to please Appius more than when he'd tried to date Nora at Appius's request. Bobby had to squelch the rise of bile in his throat just thinking about it.

From what Bobby could tell of Nora, she was a spoiled, self-indulgent brat. And she'd gotten it into her beautiful head that she wanted to snare the most eligible bachelor in New York; that was Eric. Eric had resisted the notion. They were stepsiblings, after all! But, in the end, he'd relented and tried to make a go of the relationship. Bobby knew that Eric had taken Appius's request—or command—that he date Nora as a glimmer of hope that his father might not fully hate him. Eric had reasoned that, since Nora was Appius's favorite, he wouldn't want her to marry someone he despised.

Bobby had thought differently. He'd figured that Appius loved Nora so much that he'd swallowed his own disdain for Eric to make sure that the spoiled woman got exactly what she wanted.

Bobby still cringed a little when he thought about the night Eric had shown up on his doorstep with a bottle of bourbon following the one time he'd actually tried to have sex with Nora. Though Bobby hadn't been happy about hearing the details of "the attempt" from an already drunk Eric, he'd been relieved that the words "erectile" and "dysfunction" and "couldn't do it" and "Nora's laughter" were a part of Eric's slurred description. After Eric had passed out on his bathroom floor with his head resting on the toilet seat, Bobby had toasted Eric's limp dick and finished the bottle.

Bobby took another drink of his wine and chuckled about the fact that—other than those two times—he'd never seen his friend drink to excess. Eric certainly was never a party animal in high school or college. Bobby couldn't totally blame Eric for the two times he'd seen him binge drink. Hell—Bobby figured that he'd be a raging alcoholic if he'd had a father like Appius!

If knowing a little about Appius's treatment of Eric had been enough to make Bobby hate the elder Northman, seeing it firsthand had made Bobby want to kill him. Appius's interactions with Eric had been laced with clear spite. However, Bobby would have hated Appius anyway because of the threat he'd made against his father.

But there was also a part of Bobby that feared what Appius might be able to accomplish with whatever false "evidence" he had against Godric. And Bobby didn't want to see his deceased father's reputation tarnished in any way. Bobby didn't doubt for a second that Appius would "do his worst"—as Eric feared.

And then there had been Appius's "visit" with Bobby. After the penultimate meeting he and Eric had with Appius and the Faeman freaks—the day before the contract was to be signed—the "Bert" goons had once again followed Bobby. That night, Bobby had decided to lose them by slipping into a bar, which was owned by an associate who would help him sneak out the back. Bobby opted to have a couple of drinks first—mainly to take the edge off since he'd had to exert major control not to strangle Appius during the meeting.

As Bobby had started his second drink, Appius Northman himself arrived at the bar. With a kind of gall that Bobby couldn't fathom, Appius had offered Bobby a deal of his own. Somehow, Appius had learned that Bobby was Godric's son, and he said that he would give Bobby five million dollars and all the so-called evidence he'd collected against Godric if Bobby snuck a clause into the contract, whereby Eric would forfeit the other 7% of NP stock that he'd received from John Northman. And Appius offered yet another ten million if Bobby agreed to turn his back on Eric once the contract was signed—to put an end to their friendship.

Bobby had feigned interest in the offer, and—in doing so—he'd been able to practice his own skills of manipulation. He'd asked Appius why he didn't want Eric to retain any NP stock. Appius had given him a one-word response: "legacy." He clearly didn't see Eric as part of his legacy; moreover, he didn't want Eric's children to have any connection to NP—unless Appius himself gave it to them.

Bobby hadn't needed to ask Appius why he wanted him to turn his back on Eric. Unless he was blind, Appius had observed that Eric trusted Bobby. Godric had once told Bobby that, every time Eric managed to make a true friend during his younger years at school, there was always an abrupt and mysterious ending to the friendship. Clearly, Appius had wanted for Bobby to be another notch on his tally belt—another friend he'd taken away from Eric.

Bobby had, of course, turned Appius down, despite the elder Northman's threats that he would "ruin Bobby's practice" if he didn't agree. Not having a practice to "ruin," Bobby had not hesitated to tell Appius that he could go fuck himself—hard—even as he journeyed straight to hell. Needless to say, Appius had left the bar angrily.

Although Bobby knew his way around a gun range and had learned judo and karate for defense, he was not necessarily a violent person. However, he wanted to "end" Appius! God knows—Bobby had the "right" kind of connections to "take care" of the Appius problem without Bobby's or Eric's names getting mentioned. However, Bobby had refrained from his murderous inclinations. Eric feared that if Appius died—even if it looked like an accident—things would get exponentially worse. After all, Appius would have made sure that any pain he could cause would be caused—especially if his end was an "unexpected" one.

Moreover, Bobby didn't want to turn Appius into a ghost for Eric. While his friend might harbor some hope that Appius could eventually accept and love him, Bobby had a totally different hope: that Eric would one day find the strength to spit in Appius's face without giving a fuck what the reaction would be.

He couldn't help but to wonder if Sookie could be the key to that happening.

Bobby finished his glass of wine and poured another for himself and Pam, who was—remarkably—still being pretty well-behaved, even engaging Sookie in a conversation about work.

Bobby looked at his closest friend. He had kept two secrets from Eric. The first was his one-on-one conversation with Appius. Bobby had kept that from Eric because he didn't want to see his friend more hurt. And he didn't want Eric to know that Appius was aware that Bobby was Godric's son. He knew that would only worry Eric. Personally, Bobby didn't give a flying fuck if Appius came after him. Hell—if Appius ever did threaten him directly, he could tap into his own family line and sic Niall on the elder Northman. Niall Brigant might have been getting up there in years, but he was still a shark when he needed to be.

The second secret that Bobby had been keeping from Eric was that he'd been slowly compiling bits of information that could be used against Appius if—when—it was needed.

Despite Appius's Herculean efforts to be discreet, Bobby had managed to get photographic evidence of the elder Northman being rather affectionate with two different men. The first had been an intern at Northman Publishing, and though Appius's young companion was over eighteen—barely—it would still be quite the scandal, given the fact that Appius had been in a supervisory position over the young man at the time. The photographs showed the two kissing, though the posture of the men indicated more intimacy was likely on the way. The second man had been Andre, with whom Appius was generally quite guarded. Unfortunately, embraces and hands on each other's arms and shoulders could be explained away by their familial connection as in-laws. However, Bobby had one photo that left nothing to the imagination. Caught in an alley behind a restaurant, Appius and Andre were clearly playing tonsil hockey in the photo. And the fact that Andre's hand was in Appius's pants made the picture even more potentially scandalous.

However, there was nothing illegal about two men kissing. Bobby knew that a scandal revealing Appius's hidden sexual exploits would hurt the elder Northman—especially given the fact that he had been hiding his sexual orientation for so long. But such a scandal wouldn't destroy him; hell, a quick turn of the "spin machine," and Appius would likely come out as the one being pitied.

Moreover, a scandal wouldn't be enough to satisfy Bobby or to get Eric out of Appius's clutches.

No. Bobby didn't plan on stopping his investigation until he caught Appius doing something for which he could be put into prison. Unfortunately, he'd not found that evidence yet.

And Bobby's options were limited. He knew that—despite everything—Eric wouldn't go along with a plan that would destroy Appius if that plan also risked Northman Publishing. However, he also figured that there may come a day when his friend might need leverage against his father: blackmail against the blackmailer. And Bobby intended to be there on that day—with champagne and the evidence Eric needed. Looking at Sookie and Eric sharing a glance, Bobby decided to redouble his efforts.

Hopefully, he thought, that day would be coming sooner rather than later.


	53. Legacy, Part 1

Chapter 53: Legacy, Part 1

Appius/Nora POV

"I don't know why you have to be so unpleasant to Eric," Nora chided with a little pout on her face. "He's not really that bad—you know. Just a little too serious and a little too stiff—except when you want him to be." She laughed at her own crude joke.

Appius cringed a little as he glanced up from his appetizer. He chose to ignore his stepdaughter's innuendo. "I do not want to have this conversation with you again, Nora," he said a little sternly. "You know that I value you and your opinion more than anything else, but there are things between Eric and myself that I don't care to discuss."

Nora sighed. "Then why do you even invite him over for family functions? It's becoming more and more apparent that being around him is disagreeable to you, Daddy."

Appius smiled a little. "Yes—but it is much more unpleasant for him, and Sophie-Anne insists. Plus, I need to keep an eye on him."

"You do that at the office," Nora said, playing with her food as she waited for a waiter to come over and pour her another glass of wine from the decanter that was only six inches away from her plate.

Figuring out what his daughter needed, Appius motioned for their waiter, who rushed over to pour more wine for both Nora and Appius.

Appius looked up at the man with disapproval in his eyes. "I do not want to see my daughter's glass empty again," he said in a low tone.

The waiter nodded. "Of course, sir. My apologies. May I get anything else for you at this time?"

Appius looked at his daughter. "Shall we try a bottle of the Bordeaux you were eyeing earlier after we finish this one?" he asked, gesturing toward the decanter.

"Yes—please," Nora smiled.

Appius nodded. "Go ahead and open a bottle of the 2005 Lafite-Rothschild for us."

"Of course, sir," the waiter nodded. "Excellent choice. I will have it decanted and ready for you."

Appius dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.

Nora took a sip of her wine. "What were we talking about? Oh yes—Eric. Like I was saying, you already keep an eye on him at the office, Daddy. Why subject yourself to socializing with him when it obviously upsets you."

"I must subject myself—at least to keep up appearances. He is my son," Appius continued, almost choking on the last word. "And as my son, Eric must seem to be part of the family." He sighed. "And, like I said, Sophie-Anne always insists that he come to the Father's Day brunch, and it is sometimes better to just go along with her rather than to listen to her complaints."

Nora sighed. "I will never understand why you seem to hate Eric so much, Daddy—even from the time when he, Pam, and I were children."

Appius shrugged. "Eric is like his mother. She too came in a pretty package and seemed charming on the surface. She too was intelligent, but she used that cleverness to deceive, and she tried to take away everything that mattered to me," he said enigmatically. "I am determined to make sure Eric does not get that chance with me or with NP."

In her confusion, Nora's eyebrows scrunched together. "Daddy, you and I both know that Eric would cut off his arm if it would benefit the company. Hell—I'm sometimes jealous of how good he is at what he does, and pretty much everyone at the company thinks he hung the moon," she added without malice in her voice. "I get that you want to push him to make sure that he's ready to take over the company in a few years, but I don't see why you have to be so hostile about the whole thing."

Appius exhaled and laid down his fork. "He is the hostile one." He sighed. "And, if I had my way, you would be the one taking over the company."

"Daddy," Nora said, reaching across the table to take his hand, "you know that's not what I want. And even you have to admit that Eric is a better choice than I am to run the company."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nora."

"I'm not," she answered sincerely. "I'm happy with the position I have, and honestly, I wouldn't want all the pressure that overseeing everything would put onto my shoulders."

"I would make sure you had all the help you needed," he offered, as he'd done many times before when they'd talked about this matter.

She sighed. "You know I like having time to have a personal life, Daddy. "And even if I had help, I'd still have all the pressure of making final decisions. I'd never get to have any fun," she pouted.

"You should settle down then—and have a family," Appius cajoled.

Nora patted her father's hand. "I will one day. I've just not found someone that I could stand to live with yet." She laughed a little. "Ironically, Eric is the only man I've ever dated that could carry on a decent conversation. But it became clear that he couldn't get over the stepsiblings thing." She frowned a little. "Pity—really."

"I never saw your fascination with him," Appius huffed a little.

"Everybody else wanted him," Nora said by way of explanation, "so I did too. But now I think it's good that things between him and me didn't work out. After all, I don't want to be with someone you dislike, Daddy. And—when I started dating him—he'd not been living in Manhattan long enough for me to realize just how uncomfortable he made you."

Appius smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And Eric is a Northman, so if you had married him, then you would have been one too, and that certainly would have been a benefit of the relationship."

Nora smiled back at her father. "I know, Daddy. I thought about that too."

"You know that I would have adopted you officially if it wouldn't have caused problems with the Gainsborough family," Appius assured her. "From the first day your mother introduced me to you, you've felt like my child. I just hope that you've never felt slighted because I didn't give you my name."

"Of course not, Daddy." Nora sniffled a little and squeezed his hand again before withdrawing her hand to take a drink. "We both know why it was impolitic for you to adopt me, but you're still my father in every way that matters. Marrying Eric and getting the Northman name would have been nice, but it wouldn't have changed anything between you and me. And, to tell you the truth, spending time with him socially got a little boring for me." She sighed. "Plus, marrying him could have caused a scandal; we are stepsiblings, after all." She paused. "Even though Eric chose not to come around much when we were growing up, he's still sort of my brother."

"You are more my child than he will ever be," Appius averred forcefully.

"And that's another reason why I decided that I didn't want to marry him," Nora said. "I'd have to constantly live with the strain between you two. No—if I marry, I will choose someone more palatable to you, Daddy. After all, I couldn't have kept living at home if I married Eric. You wouldn't have been happy with him there, and I don't wish to move away from you."

"That is nice to hear, sweetheart," Appius smiled. "I just want the best for you."

The maître d' chose that moment to visit their table. "Mr. Northman, Miss Gainsborough, it is lovely to see you both again."

Appius acknowledged the man. "Rudolfo." He looked around. "It seems that business is steady."

"Indeed, sir," the man replied. "And may I wish you a happy Father's Day. Miss Gainsborough said that this dinner was in honor of the holiday when she made the reservation with us."

"Thank you," Appius said, smiling at his daughter.

Rudolfo bowed a little. "I have been told that your entrees will be out in ten to fifteen minutes; meanwhile, we have gotten in a very nice Beluga caviar that I would very much like your opinion about."

"Fine," Appius nodded when he saw Nora's eyes light up at the mention of caviar.

Rudolfo gestured toward the kitchen, and as he made sure Nora and Appius's wine glasses were full, the caviar was brought out, along with two glasses of sparkling wine.

"My sommelier informs me that this Bollinger Blanc de Noir is an excellent pairing," he said with a bow of the head.

Appius nodded at the man as he left the table. Nora was already digging in to the treat.

"Mmmmm," she sounded, "this is yummy."

Appius looked fondly at his daughter and took his own bite of the delicacy. "Indeed," he said, savoring the taste of the Beluga. He nodded toward Rudolfo and lifted his glass, signaling to the maître d' that the caviar was excellent.

As they enjoyed the rest of the caviar, their entrees, and then their desserts, Nora entertained Appius with some gossip involving members of their circle. As always, Appius catalogued the various scandals in his supple mind, noting which pieces of new information might be beneficial to him. One tidbit in particular—a rumor about Freyda de Castro returning from Barcelona, where she'd been since January—was of particular interest to him.

"Shall we have an after-dinner brandy?" Appius asked his daughter as their waiter removed their dessert plates.

"Yes," Nora smiled. "And more coffee too, please."

Appius spoke to the waiter. "Two glasses of the brandy I had last time I was here. And more coffee."

The man nodded and quickly set about the tasks given to him. After he'd returned, Appius took a long sip of the strong cognac.

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, he returned to the topic he'd been discussing with Nora before. "Promise me—if you ever change your mind about the CEO position, you will tell me."

She nodded. "I will, Daddy. I promise."

Appius looked relieved. "Until Eric officially takes over, I could still try to stop what has been set into motion," he said, his tone becoming a little bitter.

Nora sighed and sipped her brandy. "I just don't get it, Daddy. You clearly have no love for Eric. Why let him be CEO at all? Why not just hire someone else to do the job?"

Appius sighed. "Northman Publishing is a family company, and despite my personal distaste for Eric, he is a Northman, and—other than you—he is the best choice I have if a family member is to remain CEO." He continued sourly, "Even I have to admit that he is efficient in his work, though he tends to become too appeasing to those with whom he works closely."

"Well he has brought in a lot of revenue," Nora said, obviously trying to soften her father's opinion of her stepbrother.

"Yes—but had he been stronger, he would have brought in more."

Nora sighed. "I suppose. But I think that Eric truly will make a good CEO. You ought not to worry so much, Daddy."

Appius looked weary. "I do worry. I don't trust him. But I must make him CEO, not only because he's my eldest son and it's expected, but because of other factors too," he said inscrutably. "Factors which are beyond my control."

"Other factors?" Nora asked with concern. She'd never seen her father look so tired or distressed before. Immediately she reached out to take his hand again. "Daddy, what's all this really about?"

Appius exhaled heavily. "Maybe it is time that you know. Maybe it is time for me to share with you why we must all be wary of Eric. But I need for you to swear not to repeat anything I tell you—not even to Pamela. No one knows the whole story—no one but me."

Nora nodded solemnly. "I swear, Daddy. Of course—I swear."

Appius took another sip of his brandy to steady his nerves and then squeezed his stepdaughter's hand before releasing it.

"When my father passed away, he left me the majority of his NP stock, as well as most of the rest of his estate, which included a variety of other interests. However, it was the NP stock that meant the most to me."

Appius paused and Nora nodded for him to go on.

"You see, before my father's death," he continued, "I owned only ten percent of NP outright. That fact had never bothered me, however, since I always assumed my father would pass along his stock to me. And—truth be told—I had plenty of money already because of a trust fund that I received when I was twenty-one, as well as the other income I'd built up over the years. And, of course, I received a salary for being CEO as well."

He took a breath and a sip of his drink. "In fact, my father and I discussed his estate in depth as soon as he learned of his cancer. You see—he did not want your grandmother to have to worry about her finances at all after he was gone. Thus, he set things up so that she would have a large monthly income—throughout her lifetime—for her personal use. And he asked me if I would administer an account set up to maintain her household. Of course, I agreed. The bulk of his estate, he said, would come to me—except for a minority of the NP stock, which he wanted to pass to his grandchildren directly.

"You see—I had been given my first 10% of the stock from my own grandfather. And my father had been given his first stock in the company by his grandfather. Thus, he wanted to do the same for his grandchildren."

Nora smiled a little. "A family tradition."

Appius nodded. "Yes. My father had decided to split 12% of his stock among the four children I had at the time: you, Pamela, Alexei, and Eric."

His jaw tightened as he went on, "My father did what we had discussed, but only up to a certain extent," he added bitterly. "Upon his death, he still held 90% of the NP stock. However, he left me only 67%, and he ended up giving 23% to my children."

"Yes," Nora said. "I remember. Pam, Alexei, and I each got 3%. And Eric got—what was it?—14%?"

Appius nodded.

"And, then, when I started at NP, Eric signed over half of his stock to me." Nora frowned. "I never knew why. He only told me that it was because he thought I should have 10% since I was CFO. He said that it would seem more substantial to the shareholders if the company went public, which seemed to be an inevitability at the time." She shrugged. "I just took it as another one of Eric's peculiarities."

"Peculiarities," Appius repeated. "Yes—Eric always was peculiar, just like his mother." He scowled. "What you don't know is that I entreated my father not to leave Eric any stock at all."

"What?" Nora asked. "Why ever not?"

"I had a good reason," Appius said in a low tone. "A very good reason. You must believe me in that."

Nora's eyes widened a little at the fervor in her father's voice. "Of course I do, Daddy. I know you wouldn't have asked Grandfather John for something like that if you didn't," she said with certainty.

Appius gave his favorite child a smile before his face fell into a frown again. "Obviously, my father did not abide by my wishes. But I didn't think it would be too bad—with Eric receiving only 3% like the rest of my children. However, after I asked my father to cut Eric out of his Will, he altered it, leaving him both more stock and a substantial percentage of his liquid capital—capital which had been promised to me."

Nora frowned. "He did that after you told him your reasons for wanting Eric left out?"

Appius nodded. "Yes—and it gets worse."

"Worse?" Nora asked with concern. "How?"

Appius took a bracing drink. "There was a codicil in Father's Will," he said with a growl. "And—if I don't obey it—everything my father did leave to me will be forfeit."

"A codicil?"

"Yes," Appius said, running his freehand through his hair. "And with that single document, my father stole the control of Northman Publishing from me."

"How?" Nora asked.

"The codicil states that if I do not make Eric the CEO of Northman Publishing before I turn 60 years old, then everything that came to me in my father's Will must be given to Eric—with the value adjusted for inflation, of course," he added, the resentment thick in his tone.

Nora looked at him in shock. "Really? Why would Grandfather John do that?"

Appius snarled a little. "He decided that he didn't like the way I treated Eric," he paused, "even after I told him what I'd learned about Eric's mother."

"What did you learn?" Nora asked, making sure to keep her voice low so that they would not be overheard. She was glad, now, that they'd been placed in a corner in the exclusive restaurant.

"My first wife, Stella, had a secret affair." He paused for a moment to take another drink. "To make matters worse, she chose to have that affair with the first man that I ever," he paused again, "loved." He shook his head. "She knew how much it would hurt me, but she did it anyway, carrying on the affair for almost a decade. I found out about it right after she died, and—up until five years ago—I had good reason to believe that Eric was another man's son."

"What?" Nora asked in a whisper. "But—why did you hire him to work at NP at all then?" Her eyebrows scrunched together in question. "You hired him six years ago—almost exactly a year before me," she remembered. She shook her head. "Why treat Eric like your son all those years? Why send him to all the best schools and pay for his extended vacations to Sweden—if he wasn't yours?"

Appius sighed, his face taking on the aspect of a martyr. "Stella Larsson and her parents conspired to hide the truth of her affair from me, so I hid the truth about what I knew. But you're right. I did raise Eric as a Northman and even gave him a position in the company—all while I thought he was someone else's son."

"That must have been so difficult for you," Nora said compassionately.

"It was," he agreed. "However, as soon as Eric started at Northman Publishing, I set into motion a plan I'd had for years. You see—as part of his trust fund, Eric had been left Johan Larsson's publishing company. However, I had been its caretaker from the time that Johan retired, which was when Eric was only eight years old."

He went on. "I decided that it wasn't fair that the company had not been left to Eric and Pamela equally, so my plan was to get Eric to officially merge Larsson Publishing with NP so that Pamela wouldn't be cut out. I wanted to protect her interests." He paused. "And my plan worked perfectly. When Eric started, I gave him control of the international division. After he recognized that Larsson Publishing wasn't turning the kinds of profits that it used to, he was the one who came to me with a merger plan."

Appius chuckled a little at the memory. "I had thought that I'd have to plant that idea into his mind, but he actually did all the work. It took a while to get the merger finalized, but when it was, I knew that I had secured Pamela's legacy by absorbing Larsson Publishing into NP. It was then that I arranged for a paternity test. The wording in my father's Will made it clear that I had to make 'my eldest son, Eric Northman,' the CEO of NP." Again, Appius ran his fingers through his longish gray hair. "Thus, I just needed to prove that Eric was not my son in order to avoid the terms of the codicil. And—as I have indicated—I was certain that the paternity test would indicate that he was not mine."

"Then what would you have done—where Eric was concerned?" Nora asked.

"I would have paid him half of the amount that Larsson Publishing was worth before the merger," Appius lied. "And I would have offered to buy his NP stock from him." He paused and took another drink. "Given the pain I'd had to endure, I couldn't have borne for him to stay on at NP. However, I'd already talked to several colleagues in the publishing business who would have been willing to give Eric an equivalent position to the one he held at NP. Your stepbrother would have had his choice of positions."

Nora sniffled a little. "You would have done all that for him—even if he hadn't been your child?"

Appius nodded. "Yes. He would have remained Pamela's brother, after all," he said with false sincerity. "However, to my great surprise, the paternity test proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Eric is my son."

"That's why you always disliked him before," Nora said with recognition. "You thought that Stella had deceived you about Eric's paternity."

"Yes," Appius admitted sadly. "I loved her," his voice broke a little. "And I also loved Peder Lang, the man she made her lover. And Eric became a constant reminder to me of their deception." He paused. "He remains that reminder—still. However, because he is my blood, the codicil to my father's Will applies. I had thought that I would be rid of the symbol of Stella's deceit and the specter of that goddamned codicil in one afternoon, but that didn't happen because Eric is my son."

"But surely you two could reconcile now," Nora beseeched. "Now that you know he's not the product of an affair, you might build a relationship with him."

Appius looked crestfallen. "At first, I tried very hard to do that," he said, continuing to lie to his stepdaughter. "I explained to Eric just how hurt I'd been by Stella and Peder's affair." He shook his head. "But Eric has always been vindictive toward me, despite the interest I took in his education. Hell—I always indulged his desire to spend summers with his grandparents, though I despised them for playing along with Stella's treachery." He paused, "You see—Stella would say that she was visiting her parents in Sweden. But that was just a pretext! She would actually go to her lover, who lived in Norway. And her mother would lie to me when I called to speak with Stella." He scoffed. "Stella would always call back a little while later with an excuse that she had been having lunch with a friend or out shopping. I'm sure that her mother had let her know that I'd called so that she could contact me—probably from her lover's bed!"

"Daddy," Nora said sympathetically, reaching for his hand again, "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

He patted her hand. "I used to be too. But Stella's death led to my discovering her secret. And if those things had not happened, I would not have been free to marry your dear mother, who gave me you." He smiled softly. "And I cannot regret that. No—all the pain in the world would be worth having you as my daughter."

"Oh, Daddy," Nora said as she brushed away a tear.

Appius's smile fell. "As I said, after the paternity test proved that Eric was mine, I tried to make the best of things. I even increased Eric's responsibilities at NP, though he has demonstrated his ingratitude for this almost every day by refusing to take into account advice that I have tried to give him." Appius let out a long exhalation, as if he'd been the longsuffering victim in the situation. "I have learned to endure his disdain for me—though it pains me that my own flesh and blood offers me no respect. And," he paused, "I admit that I am partly to blame. I could not treat Eric warmly when I thought he belonged to another man, even though I did always see to his care. And—now—it is difficult to be around him, given the fact that he has refused all of the efforts I have made to forge a true father-son relationship with him," he said with false genuineness.

Nora wiped away another tear. "Of course that would hurt you." She shook her head as realization set in. "It all makes so much more sense now." She huffed. "And I cannot believe that Eric wouldn't be understanding after what his mother did to you!"

Appius sighed. "Yes. But, all in all, it is best that I am aware of his grudge against me. Otherwise, I would not know to be prepared when he inevitably tries to betray me and the rest of the family."

Nora gasped in understanding. "That's why Grandfather John's will upsets you so much! It requires that you turn over the reins of NP to Eric!" She frowned as she tried to reconcile what she had thought she knew of Eric with what she was now learning. "But I'm sure Eric cares about the company, Daddy. I know he wouldn't do anything to harm it."

"I believe that is true also," Appius said. "But I worry for you, Pamela, Alexei, Gracie, and Appius, Jr. I believe that once Eric is CEO, he will undermine all of your positions. I believe he wants NP for himself and his own children. I fear that he will try to cut the rest of you out in order to get back at me."

"You think he'd do that?" Nora asked, both her skepticism and her shock clear. "But Eric," she paused, "seems to care for us all—genuinely care for us."

"Just as his mother always seemed to care for me," Appius said forebodingly.


	54. Legacy, Part 2

Chapter 54: Legacy, Part 2

Nora gasped. "Surely you don't think Eric has been fooling us?" She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think he'd harm the company, Daddy. And I really don't think he'd do anything to hurt me, Pam, Gracie, Alexei, or Appius, Jr."

Appius sighed. "I just hope that, for everyone's sake, you're right about your stepbrother. Perhaps, Eric's bitterness is for me only, and if that's true, then all will be well, but I worry nonetheless."

Nora nodded in understanding and took a sip of her drink, needing it all the more than she had twenty minutes earlier.

"I built Northman Publishing from a relatively modest publishing house to the giant it is today, but because of my father," Appius said dejectedly, "I must leave it in the hands of a son who hates me—for no fewer than twenty years."

"Twenty years?" Nora asked.

"Yes. That is what the codicil demands." He finished off his brandy and gestured toward the waiter to bring him another. After it was poured and the waiter left, Appius spoke again. "Luckily, another term of the codicil is that it be kept private. So only my father's attorney, my mother, and I know of its existence. And now you know."

Appius frowned, his face fraught with worry. "If Eric knew of the codicil's existence, he'd simply quit NP and bide his time, waiting for me to turn sixty or to die so that he could take what my father left to me." He laughed bitterly. "Or—more accurately—take what my father seemed to leave to me." He shook his head. "Eric could then take control of the company and make himself CEO," he said in a frustrated tone.

"Oh, Daddy," Nora said, her voice conveying her horror at her father's pain.

Appius sighed deeply. "In truth, this mess left behind by my father is the only reason why I agreed to take the company public. Neave and Lochlan hypothesized that if the entire structure of the company were altered, then the requirements of my father's Will would no longer apply. However, after the change was completed, Desmond Cataliades, your grandfather's personal attorney, called me into his office and showed me some fine print in my father's codicil that was not to be read to me unless I," Appius paused, "tried something to undermine the Will." He sighed, "It seems that my father anticipated that I would resist the conditions of the codicil."

"And why wouldn't you?" Nora stated indignantly. "After you built NP up to be so much more than he left it, Grandfather John took the control of the company out of your hands!" She shook her head. "And that's just not fair!" She looked at her father sympathetically. "Why would Grandfather John do that to you?"

Appius's hurt showed clearly on his face. "I cannot know for certain. My father never approved of the fact that I had relationships with men, though I tried to keep them separate from my family—especially while he was alive." He looked forlorn. "Around my father, I hid that part of myself. Don't get me wrong. I loved Stella and especially your mother—very deeply. Your mother was a true partner to me, and—though she cannot compare—Sophie-Anne is trying to be the same. But," he sighed, "I have always put my personal desires to the side—for the sake of my family."

"That's why I'm so glad that you have your arrangement with Sophie-Anne," Nora said. "You deserve to be happy with Andre."

"Yes. Sophie-Anne is good to me in that way," Appius agreed.

Nora reached out and squeezed his hand again.

Appius continued grimly, "As I said, my father had foreseen that I might try to sell my stock in order to get out of the Will's terms." He shook his head. "If I don't make Eric CEO by the time I reach 60, I will be forced to give him every bit of stock I do have left; plus, I will have to pay him the market value of whatever percentage I no longer hold of the original 67% my father left me. As I now possess only 30% of the stock, which is the maximum any one person can hold now that the company has gone public, I would owe him the value of another 37%. Plus, I would have to personally give him the value of everything else that my father left to me in his Will—adjusted for inflation."

"Oh my God!" Nora exclaimed. "That would be a fortune."

"Yes. As it stands, in addition to forfeiting all my remaining NP stock to him, I would have to pay him the sum of 12.3 billion dollars."

"Dear Lord!" Nora cried.

Appius closed his eyes. "It's not even the money that I would hate to lose. It's the company. I have worked so long and so hard in order to leave a strong legacy for you and Alexei and Gracie and little Appius, Jr. And even Pamela, despite her mother."

"Oh Daddy," Nora said, obviously making a Herculean effort to keep her tears at bay.

Appius went on desperately. "I have endeavored to find ways around the codicil. I have looked into changing the name of the company, but that won't work. I have looked into selling it to you, but that won't work. I have also thought about driving NP into the fucking ground so that the stock is fucking worthless!" he fumed hostilely.

"But you can't do that to NP," Nora said.

"No." He looked up at her with a little shame in his eyes. "I have also considered having him killed."

"Daddy! No!" Nora said loudly, drawing a look from their waiter.

Appius quickly gestured for the man to refill his daughter's glass.

Once he was gone, Nora spoke again, this time much more quietly. "Daddy, you cannot do that."

Appius sighed. "No—I cannot. As much as it would make my life easier in some ways, I will not."

Nora breathed out a sigh of relief.

Appius patted her hand. "In truth, it was a fleeting thought—born only out of the pain Eric has caused me."

Nora sighed. "I realize—now—what you have gone through, but you mustn't think such things."

"You are right," he said softly. "And, in truth, I couldn't do such a thing. I want—too much—to try to earn Eric's love."

"I know," she said taking his hand again. "I'll do everything I can to help you do that—and to protect NP."

There were a few minutes of silence between them as they sipped their drinks.

When Appius did speak again, it was morosely, "Now you see why I have to make Eric CEO. It is the only way that I can keep my legacy intact. However, I must allow that same legacy to be shepherded for twenty years by a person who despises me!" He sighed. "The thought of that is why—to my shame—I didn't discourage you from pursuing him romantically."

Nora looked at him with confusion. "I'm not sure I understand," she admitted.

"Your marrying Eric, though problematic in some ways, would have offered something of a solution to my father's Will."

"What do you mean?"

Appius sighed. "You know that I would have allowed the marriage to occur only if it was what you truly wanted—right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Of course."

He looked relieved. "Well—after you came to me asking for my help in convincing Eric to pursue a relationship with you—I realized that your marrying Eric would have given me another way to protect our family's legacy from him."

"How?"

"If you and he had married, there could have been a prenuptial agreement. Generally, those are crafted so that any equity earned or inherited for the duration of the marriage is split 50/50 if the marriage is dissolved. Such a document could have mitigated the damage of my father's Will."

Nora looked at Appius with questions in her eyes.

"First, it was possible—probable even—that being married to you would have altered Eric's feelings about me," he explained. "In fact, I had hoped that—with your influence—his bitterness toward me would dissipate and that we could put the past behind us. Also—if you were his wife—I would have been better able to gauge his intentions."

"Oh, Daddy," Nora said sadly. "You thought that, if we married, Eric might begin to show you the love you deserve."

Appius sighed. "Yes. I admit that was my greatest hope. And if that had happened, I could have made him CEO without fear or hesitation, knowing that you would both have stewardship over it. And—of course—I wouldn't begrudge any children you might adopt from sharing in the Northman legacy."

He continued in a more forlorn tone. "However, I'm afraid that I didn't have much confidence in Eric's benevolence. In truth, I thought it more likely that your marriage to him would eventually make you unhappy. However, I knew that if you decided to divorce him, we would have been able to make certain moves in order to limit the damage of the codicil."

Nora's mouth opened as if she were beginning to understand her father's reasoning.

"Timing, of course, would have meant everything," Appius continued. "I posited that if your heart ever did harden against Eric, then you would agree to divorce him after I turned sixty and my father's codicil went into effect."

"Then I would have been awarded half of everything you had to give up to him," Nora said with realization.

"Yes. In that scenario, I could have made you or anyone else CEO at any point after I turned 60. Or—I could have stayed in the position until I decided to leave. Granted, Eric would have gotten the 30% of NP that I currently hold, and I would have had to liquidate many of my holdings to make up the difference for the rest of my inheritance from my father, but half of that would have gone to you as soon as your divorce was filed. And we could have structured the prenuptial agreement so that he'd have to give you half the stock and half the equity—instead of just the value of the stock."

"And if I was awarded 15% of the company, then I would have had 25%, compared to his 22%."

"Yes," Appius said. "Plus, after we found out about Felipe de Castro's little play earlier this year, I have been buying more stock—in Andre's name—as it becomes available. All told, I've secured just over 4% of the company. Stan Davis is also buying stock as it becomes available. As you'd imagine, since the stock is so lucrative and much of it is still with the family, there's not a lot of movement in the stock; however, he's managed to obtain just over 2%."

"And Eric won't find out about that since neither of them has over 5%," Nora observed.

"No—he won't," Appius confirmed.

Nora bit her lip. "But all of that is for naught since Eric and I are no longer a couple."

Appius sighed, his eyes looking weary. "Regardless of that, it is good that the family controls more of the stock. I regret—now—that I allowed my fear of the codicil to sway me into taking NP public."

Nora frowned as she took another sip of her drink.

"Hey—do not worry," Appius said, trying to reassure her. "Now that a wedding between you and Eric seems highly unlikely, I have taken other steps."

"What other steps?"

"To protect the family, I initiated a contract between Eric and myself after the paternity test proved that he was mine. Eric believes that the contract protects his own interests and that I did it as a way of ingratiating myself to him," Appius relayed sadly. "But, in truth, the contract ensures that—at the end of his twenty-year term—he will not get a say in who becomes the next CEO. Thus, he will not be able to prevent Appius, Jr. or someone else of my choosing from becoming CEO." He sighed. "I just hope that I live long enough to see my company back in the hands of someone I trust."

"What if Eric refused to become CEO?" Nora asked after a few moments of silence, during which she processed the new information she'd been given. "What if you offered, but he refused? Surely—then—the codicil wouldn't be binding."

Appius sighed. "I'm afraid that the codicil would go into effect even if Eric declined the CEO position." He shook his head. "That is why I am so angry over what my father did! What if Eric was unqualified or disinterested?" he asked bitterly.

He took a quick sip of his brandy. "If Eric refused to become CEO for any reason—any reason at all—everything my father left me would become his!" He paused, "At least, with the contract in place, Eric must become CEO before I turn sixty, and he's locked into staying CEO for twenty years. He will, hopefully, never learn about the codicil. And there are penalties in the contract that would go into effect if it were broken by him—penalties that would help me to recover some of what the codicil would force me to give him." He continued sadly, "But I would still lose NP."

Nora shook her head. "I just can't believe Grandfather John did this to you—especially after all you've done for NP!"

"I know," Appius said with a tortured look. "And that is what has hurt me the most. My own father . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Oh, Daddy," Nora said sympathetically.

Appius smiled at her sadly. "It could be worse. I put a few additional safeguards into the contract."

"Like what?"

"Well—if Eric proves to be ineffective as CEO, I can appoint someone else to take over for a year," Appius explained. "He would still hold the title," he quickly added, "but the damage he could do would be mitigated."

Nora took a deep breath. "Do you want me to try to marry Eric to secure the company?" she asked.

Appius sighed and patted her hand. "If Eric was a better match for you, I may have asked that of you. I admit that a marriage between you and him would help in some ways." He sighed. "But—honestly—I don't want you to sacrifice yourself in that way. Right now, Eric is tethered. Per our contract, he will become CEO on his thirty-fifth birthday. And he will have to keep the profits above a certain percentage in order to stay more than just CEO in name." Appius smiled reassuringly. "Eric will be a placeholder, but neither he nor any line he bears will keep Northman Publishing. And—most importantly—I wouldn't want for you to be trapped in a marriage that doesn't make you happy."

Nora sighed deeply. "Oh God, Daddy. I just can't believe you've had all this hanging over your head for so many years, and I still can't believe Grandfather John put you into this position," she said angrily.

Appius sighed, looking inconsolable. "I know. I feel so betrayed from both sides. My own father betrayed my trust and made it impossible for me to pass down my company as I want. And my own son yearns to hurt me by rejecting all of my attempts to become close to him. And, I fear, that that is only the beginning of the hurt he will cause me."

"It's okay, Daddy," Nora comforted. "I think that the contract you've made with Eric has protected the company for Appius, Jr. And I still think that Eric will run NP well. The profits will continue to come in, so you needn't worry. As long as Eric doesn't find out about the codicil to Grandfather John's Will, nothing will change."

Appius sighed. "Yes. I know. That is my only consolation—that the company will be salient when Appius Jr. is ready. But I hate that Eric will always be around to remind me of her," he said somewhat harshly. "He is my bane in so many ways."

"You don't have to make him CEO," Nora said quietly. "We can continue to buy up stock until Andre, Stan, and I have 30% or more. We already have 16%. Alexei's 3% would bring us up to 19%, and I'm sure that I could convince him to sell that to me. We could quietly continue to buy more. Then—even if Eric took what you have—he still wouldn't be able to seize control of the company since he'd have to sell 7% immediately in order to adhere to the stock rules that went into effect when NP went public. And we could be ready to buy that too, which would likely take us well over 30% altogether!" Nora's excitement grew. "Eric couldn't retain more than 30%. And—after the codicil's provisions were met—Andre, Stan, and I could give you 30% of our stock!"

Appius smiled at his stepdaughter proudly, though his face fell a little after a few moments. "I have thought about that, but it's the individual who owns the most stock who determines the CEO, and since no one can own over 30%, there would be a power struggle between Eric and myself. And—if the courts became involved—my father's Will would likely be the deciding vote."

"I'll marry him," Nora said quietly. "If it comes down to it, I'll marry him for you. I think I could convince him to make an arrangement with me."

Appius squeezed her hand. "You are the best child I could ever imagine for myself, Nora, and if matters become desperate, I might ask you to marry Eric, but for now, I think we should go on as we have been. You should be happy, and I don't want you to be stuck with him even for a short time. No—unless you change your mind about wanting to be CEO, things are best as they are. Eric will take over the company in a few years, and, as long as it is growing for Appius, Jr., he can hold onto the reigns until my youngest son is ready. You are right about the fact that Eric will likely run the company competently. I hate to admit it, but he has some talent in business. The deal he just made with Guangzhou Press proves that. And, if he fails, the contract gives me options. Perhaps," he added, his voice forlorn again, "when I am no longer in his line of sight, he will even stop going out of his way to hurt me."

Nora was contemplative for a moment. "Can this lawyer—this Mr. Cataliades—be convinced to lose Grandfather John's will?" she asked.

Appius smiled. "See—you are my daughter in spirit even if not by blood. However, I'm afraid that Desmond Cataliades is that rare kind of lawyer who is un-buyable."

"Have you tried?" she asked.

"Your grandmother did, but Cataliades could not be convinced."

There were a few moments of silence between them as they finished their drinks.

"I would do anything for you, Daddy. You know that—right?"

"I know, sweetheart, and I love you all the more because of it."

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy," Nora said, getting up to hug the man who had raised her as his own.

Rudolfo approached the table again. "Can we get you anything else this evening?" he asked.

Appius shook his head. "No. I believe we are quite sated. Just use the card on file," he instructed.

"Very good, Mr. Northman," Rudolfo said. "We hope that you and Miss Gainsborough join us again soon." He bowed his head respectfully before walking away.

"But, Daddy," Nora protested, "this dinner was to be my treat."

"Your company is my treat," Appius said sincerely as he got up and poked out his elbow for her to take.

She smiled up at him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before locking her arm into his.

In the limo on the way home, the two were quiet. Appius used the time to study the emotions fluttering across Nora's face. Appius smiled, knowing that he now had secured an important ally against his eldest son. He knew that Nora liked Eric—even beyond her past infatuation with him. And Appius was not blind. He was aware that she asked for Eric's help from time to time; however, to him, that proved only that Nora was self-aware, realistic, discreet, and wise.

But, if push came to shove, Appius also knew where Nora's true loyalties lay. They were with him, and that fact warmed his heart. He couldn't help but to feel a little guilty that he'd needed to deceive her about some of the details concerning his and Eric's relationship—but he knew it was for the best. Nora was his favorite child—his chosen child—and he'd be damned if Eric did anything to get in the way of that!

Appius sighed. He wished that the information he'd told Nora about the codicil had been part of his deception. Unfortunately, however, the codicil was very real—and a very real threat. He seethed inside as he once again thought about the way his own father had fucked him over! Appius had beseeched John Northman not to leave Eric anything, yet his father had done the opposite, and—in so doing—Eric could get his hands on everything! Appius was determined not to let that happen.

His real consolation, ironically, was Eric's true nature. Despite what he'd said to Nora, Appius knew that—unlike Stella—when Eric gave his loyalty, it was given to the core. Eric was unbendingly loyal to the company and to his siblings. And he was intelligent and naturally astute in business matters—not that Appius liked to admit that. Indeed, Eric was worthy of being CEO, and he'd be a good steward of that position, but that didn't stop Appius from wanting to rip the position away from his eldest child anyway—just to hurt him.

Appius thought of Eric's eyes. They were copies of his mother's—of Stella's. Her eyes had been so open to him—so loving. But he'd missed the deceit in them.

He swallowed, trying to combat the lump in his throat that always arose when he thought of Stella—his star. He'd had to watch her eyes lose their luster little by little as her cancer ate away at her body. It had almost killed him along with her.

However, a part of him longed to see the light disappear fully from Eric's eyes. For the thousandth time, he considered having his eldest killed—or even doing it himself so that he could watch that light fade into nothingness.

He swallowed again. As always—it was the fact that he had her eyes that prevented him from removing Eric from the world. However, that fact would not have stopped him had Nora wanted to be CEO. Appius had been prepared to eliminate Eric and the threat of the codicil—if his beloved Nora had wanted to be CEO. And he was still prepared to take that step if Nora changed her mind.

Otherwise, he had already accepted the fact that Eric becoming CEO would be best for NP. And the contract would allow for him to continue hurting Eric—little by little—until he was finally out of their lives forever. Appius couldn't help but to hope that Eric proved inept at finding a spouse on his own; that way he could saddle him with someone that he could control—someone like Freyda de Castro or even Nora. Then Appius could go to work on any children that Eric had. He smiled sinisterly. If all went as he desired, Appius would ingratiate himself to those children. He would be the model grandparent, and Eric's innate goodness would prevent him from telling his children anything negative about their "beloved" grandfather. Indeed, when Eric's children came of age, Appius planned to dangle NP over their heads and use all of his manipulative skills to turn them against their father.

Then Eric would truly understand what it was like to have the things he loved most ripped away from him. Yes—Appius would not rest until Eric understood fully what it was like to lose his whole world.

Then—perhaps—once and for all, the memory of Stella's eyes would finally stop haunting him.


	55. Faith in Silence

Chapter 55: Faith in Silence

"Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested."—Elizabeth I

Eric/Sookie POV

A warm day had given way to an unseasonably cool night, and since it was drizzling lightly, Eric had asked Bobby and Pam to wait in the living room on "his" side of the house while he and Sookie quickly cleaned up the kitchen.

The dishwasher full and running and another bottle of wine opened in case it was needed for their talk, Eric leaned against the counter, trying to steady himself for what was to come.

"What if she doesn't believe me?" Eric asked in a strangled tone.

"She will," Sookie responded. "Pam may not have received the same poor treatment as you did growing up, but she's not an idiot. She would have seen things, even if she wasn't aware of what she was seeing."

"What if she believes me—but still chooses him?" he asked so quietly that Sookie barely heard him.

She sighed and leaned against him, putting her head against his arm. The connection not being enough, he quickly turned and pulled her into his full embrace.

"She might not choose either side, Eric," Sookie said cautiously. "But if she does choose him, I'll be here. However, I really don't think she would abandon you—especially not after she learns the truth. You're her brother."

"And Appius is her father."

"Yes," she sighed, "he is."

Eric pulled her even closer and rested his cheek against the top of her head. "You'll be right beside me?"

"Yeah," she responded, tightening her arms around his torso. "I'll be right next to you."

"Okay," he whispered, pulling away from her after placing a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

Sookie took his hand and picked up the bottle of wine while he picked up their two glasses with his free hand.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, though his voice shook a little.

Pam POV

"I still don't understand what all this is about?" Pam said, as she sat down heavily onto one of the couches in the living room. "I mean—I get that Daddy would try to block Eric from seeing Sookie, so I won't tell that Eric's slumming."

"Pam!" Bobby said warningly.

"Fine," she said. "He's not slumming—if you say so." She pouted a little. "But it's not like Eric would need to convince me to keep his confidence. Of course I will! And he should know that! I just want to know how they got together—why they got together," she huffed. "However, I get the feeling that Eric is going to tell me something else—isn't he."

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed as he sat down next to her and took her hand into his. "I think so."

"You're not getting any tonight, Bobby," Pam said gruffly, pulling her hand away.

"Maybe I don't want any tonight," he said with a glint in his eyes.

"Oh—you always want me," she said with certainty.

He chuckled. "Yeah, you're right. I absolutely always want you," he responded, managing to sound both sincere and sarcastic at the same time.

She rolled her eyes. "It is too bad that you don't have a vagina. You really are one of my favorite people."

"I can't blame you," Bobby said with a wink. "I love a good vagina too."

Pam laughed but then became serious again. "Bobby, do you know what's going on with Eric? What did you mean when you said that he's been 'pretending' to be happy?"

Bobby closed his eyes. "Pam, what can you tell me about Eric's childhood?"

"Eric childhood? What do you mean?"

"I mean—what do you remember about Eric when he was a kid?"

Pam sighed. "Well—he was a good brother. When we were at Mormor and Morfar's house, he always looked out for me. And then after Morfar died, he was extra attentive. He taught me how to ride horses and to swim and to drive the boat. He was cool."

"You didn't spend your whole summers in Sweden—did you?"

Pam shook her head. "No—generally just a few weeks. Three or four, I think. Eric always wanted to stay the whole summer though."

"Did he?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. It hurt Daddy's feelings to know that Eric didn't really want to spend more time at home."

"Did it," Bobby stated acerbically, his jaw tightening.

"Yes—it did," Pam responded defensively.

Bobby sighed. "What of Thanksgivings? Why wasn't Eric at home during his Thanksgivings?"

"He had school," Pam said. "He needed extra tutoring."

"And spring breaks?"

"Same thing," Pam retorted.

"Every year?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Pam answered a little more hesitantly. "Eric always had a hard time with his studies," she said. "Everyone knows that."

"Pam," Bobby said more gently, as if she were a wild animal he didn't want to startle away, "Eric graduated from Harvard Business School at the top of his class. He also graduated summa cum laude from Harvard—where he got degrees in both marketing and business law. And he was Valedictorian of his class at Exeter Academy, which is one of the most academically rigorous high schools in the U.S."

"Well—I guess the tutoring helped," Pam defended.

Bobby sighed and shook his head. "You have never asked me how I met Eric."

"You're his personal attorney," she said, her eyebrows scrunching together a little.

He chuckled. "Yes. But I obviously knew him before that. You and I met at his graduation from Harvard Business School, after all."

"Did you go to Harvard with him?"

"No. I met Eric when he was six and I was ten."

"So you went to boarding school with him?"

Bobby shook his head. "No. My father, Godric Burnham, was Eric's headmaster. My parents divorced, but I spent most of my vacations with my dad. When I was ten, he asked me to befriend a young kid with no friends. That kid was Eric."

"That's ridiculous. Eric's always had lots of friends."

"Really? Name someone other than me and you who's been to this house."

"Tons of people have been here."

"I'm not talking about for work parties, Pam."

"Okay," Pam relented after a moment, "but Eric is private."

"Yes—and there's a reason for that, Pam." He sighed. "When I was a kid, I hung out with Eric only two weeks a year, but I'm his closest friend. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

"Well no," Pam huffed a little. "After all," she added sarcastically, "you're likeable."

Bobby chuckled, but then his expression soured again. "The real reason is that Eric is afraid to truly connect with anything—or anyone. He has been ever since I met him. But—after years of my coming around—he started to trust that I would keep coming around. And—since I didn't come around often—there was less of a chance of Eric becoming dependent upon a friendship he didn't think he would be able to keep, so he let his guard down just enough for me to sneak in. But—make no mistake—he's allowed for me to stay his friend only because I've never pushed to get too close to him."

"That's ridiculous," Pam said, though her eyes held a little uncertainty.

Bobby sighed. "Every year, Eric would eat Thanksgiving dinner with my father and me. And he and I would hang out and play video games during Thanksgiving break and spring break. Hell—even after Eric went to Exeter, my dad and I would drive up to get him during those school holidays. And—for the record—Eric never needed a tutor for anything in his whole life."

Pam sat silently stunned for a moment. "Then why didn't he come home?"

"Pam," came Eric's quiet voice from the doorway of the room, "I didn't have a home."

Pam whipped her head around to face Eric, who seemed frozen in the doorway—until Sookie gently pulled him into the room and over to the couch opposite the one Bobby and Pam were on.

"I'm sorry, Eric," Bobby said contritely. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's okay," Eric said to his friend, even though his eyes were still on Pam's.

"Of course you had a home," Pam said. "You had a home!" she repeated insistently. "You just didn't like being there."

"Did I?" Eric asked quietly. "Where was my room?"

Pam's eyebrows scrunched together. "You weren't home enough to need your own room," she replied, her voice wavering a bit.

"You're right. Until I was eighteen, Father allowed me into his residence for only three weeks out of the year, but that was only because it would have been too suspicious for him to ship me to Sweden for winter breaks too."

"But you wanted to spend your summers in Sweden," Pam asserted. "I remember."

"Yes," Eric agreed. "I was always happier in Sweden. But, Pam, I wasn't given a choice." He sighed loudly. "I was only five when I was sent to boarding school. It was the fall after Mom died. I only remember flashes from that first year. I remember feeling incredibly sad and alone. I remember that I was younger than everyone else living at school. I remember going to our old house for Christmas and playing with my trains because I wasn't supposed to leave my room. The only good thing I remember about that year was making a friend named Justin. But after Christmas break, Justin would no longer be my friend."

Pam shook her head in confusion. "But five year olds can't go to boarding school. They're too young—right?"

"Not if their fathers pay extra," Eric said. He closed his eyes. "I have more memories of the next year—when you all had moved into Northman Mansion. All the toys that had been in my room in our old house were gone—as were the pictures." He opened his eyes. "I remember meeting Nora and Beth that year. And I remember my first official meeting with Father in his office at Northman Mansion."

"Meeting?" Pam asked even as she noticed Sookie leaning into Eric as if to comfort him.

"Yes. Father took me into his office and made me sit at attention." He smiled ruefully. "I remember wishing that I would be swallowed up by the chair I sat in."

"Why's that?" Pam asked in barely a whisper.

"Father told me that I was doing poorly in school. He told me that I was a disappointment as a son. He told me that I needed to be a better child so that he didn't have to be embarrassed by my existence.

Eric took a deep breath. "I had similar meetings with Father every year. He required that Headmaster Burnham send him reports about my progress each December, and when I returned in January, the friends that I had made were no longer allowed to hang out with me, and the things that I liked to do were no longer available for me to do. That happened until the headmaster began to lie in the reports, but—by then—the damage was already done." He took another breath. "Father always arranged for me to stay at the school for the short holidays—Thanksgiving and Spring Break. Mormor and Morfar would take me during the summers, so that meant that Father had to deal with me only three weeks out of fifty two each year. I never asked for that life, Pam. And I was certainly too young to choose at the time. But it was the existence that Father wanted me to have."

"But," Pam started and then stopped for a moment. "I don't get it, Eric. Why would Daddy do that?"

Eric sighed loudly and shook his head as a tear fell from his eye. He looked at Sookie and spoke a single word, "Please."

Sookie nodded in understanding. "Pam," she said picking up the story for Eric, "Appius found out some information after your mother died that proved that she had an affair with a man named Peder Lang. Peder was also your father's first male lover, and Appius loved him very much. He also loved your mother." She sighed and looked at Eric, who nodded for her to go on. "When he found out about your mother's affair with Peder―an affair which had been going on for a very long time, despite your mother promising to give up Peder when they were all in college together—your father was outraged. Your mother was dead, but Eric was not. Appius became convinced that Eric wasn't his son, so he—uh—punished him for his mother's affair."

"Stop!" Pam said forcefully before looking at Eric. "This isn't true!"

"It is true," he sighed. "Do you remember when I started at NP? I was put in charge of the international division of the company right away, and I was told that Larsson Publishing, Morfar's company, had to increase its profits by a certain percentage or we'd have to sell it."

Pam nodded. "Yeah—I remember something about that. Daddy told me that it had been losing a lot of money."

Eric shook his head. "No—it wasn't. It just wasn't making that much money anymore. I was given a year to increase its profits by ten percent."

"But—that would have been practically impossible for anyone," Pam stated, "let alone someone just out of school."

Eric shrugged. "I wasn't meant to succeed, Pam. But I still tried. In the first three quarters of the year, there was a 4.5% increase in profits, but that wasn't good enough for Father, so I proposed an official merger between NP and Larsson Publishing." He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "I wasn't aware when I started the merger proceedings that Father didn't have the power to liquidate Larsson Publishing because it was a part of my trust fund, but even if I had been aware, I would have still proposed the merger. It made fiscal sense, especially given the fact that a lot of publishing work is now done over the Internet. Maintaining the Stockholm site was a financial drain that we didn't need to have in order to keep Larsson Publishing's clients. So Father gave me access to my trust fund just long enough for me to merge Larsson Publishing with NP." He stopped, his voice once again tangled up with emotion.

Sookie picked up the story for him. "The day after the merger was complete, Eric was brought into Appius's office for a surprise DNA test. He met Peder Lang, and he was shown a letter that your mother wrote to Peder when she realized that the chemotherapy wasn't going to work against her cancer. In it, she said goodbye and told him that she loved him."

Eric squeezed Sookie's hand and resumed. "It was clear that day that Father still had feelings for Peder, but Peder was there only for the DNA test. He," Eric's voice caught, "wanted me to be his. At least—I think he did. It," he paused, "felt good to be wanted."

Pam sat stunned for a moment. When she did speak, she chose to ask the "easiest" of the questions that were rumbling like freighters through her head. "But why would Daddy have to give you access to your trust fund, Eric? We got our trust funds when we graduated from college."

Eric sighed. "Father was always in control of when we got our trust funds, Pam. You and Nora received yours when you graduated from college; however, I still haven't gotten mine, and I won't be getting it for a very long time—if ever."

"But how did you afford this house without your trust fund?" she asked, still not wanting to directly face her father's apparent cruelty.

Eric smirked a little. "I have a mortgage, Pam."

"A mortgage?" she asked, the word sounding almost foreign to her as she said it.

"Yeah. And I used some money Grandfather John left me for the down payment."

"Wait!" Pam said after a moment, thinking of another question that wouldn't hurt too much to ask since she already had figured out the answer. "You said there was a paternity test?"

"Yes. Appius Northman is my father."

Everyone was silent for a few minutes after that. And Pam was grateful for that silence. It felt as if a bomb had gone off in her head—in her life—and she needed a moment to absorb and to assimilate the information she'd been told. Seeing the sincerity in Eric's eyes, she couldn't help but to believe what her brother had told her, but how could her father have been so cruel? Even if he didn't think that Eric was his, why would he intentionally inflict suffering onto a little child? And why not just have a DNA test conducted years ago and be done with it? Pam shook her head a little. She wasn't sure when DNA testing was developed, but surely her father could have done something to confirm or to disprove his suspicions long before he did! The only reason for the delay seemed to be that her father had wanted to take Larsson Publishing, which was her mother's legacy—Eric's legacy. And the way he'd done it—making Eric orchestrate the whole thing—seemed sadistic!

"Daddy got you to give away Larsson Publishing," she finally said, looking for confirmation to her thoughts. "He did that and then he immediately tried to disprove that you were his. That was to hurt you as much as possible—wasn't it?"

"Yes," Eric responded quietly. "I think so."

"What if you had been Peder's son? What would have happened then?" she asked, intuiting that her father would have had a plan in place for that outcome. She didn't want to hear that plan, but she knew she needed to.

"Father already had papers drafted," Eric replied. "If I had agreed to sign away my Northman Publishing stock from Grandfather John, I would have been allowed to keep the other things he left me when he died. I would have also been allowed to keep what was in my bank accounts. There was also paperwork drawn up for me to begin the process of officially changing my name. And I was to leave New York immediately."

"But why would you have done all that?" Pam asked. "Why wouldn't you have fought—at least to get something for the stock?"

Eric sighed. "Father had the letters between Peder and Mother, and he had proof that Mormor had known about them. At the very least, he would have been able to sue me for fraud and—even if he lost—my accounts would have been frozen for years. He also threatened to drag Mother's name through the mud. Plus, he said he would place a stop on Mormor's income if I didn't comply with his wishes." He paused. "So I would have done as he said if I had been Peder's son."

"And me? Would you have just left New York without saying goodbye?"

Eric sighed loudly. "Appius told me that I had to cut all ties with the Northman family, including you. But I had hoped that I would be able to stay in contact with you through Mormor."

"But the DNA test proved that you're Daddy's son."

"Yes, I am." Eric nodded. "After the test, I was going to leave NP and New York anyway. But Appius blackmailed me into staying."

"How?" Pam asked.

Eric looked at Sookie for encouragement and then pulled what looked to be a letter out of a file folder on the coffee table. As he handed it to her, Pam noticed that his hand was shaking.

"What's this?" she asked, trying to keep her own voice from quivering.

"A letter," Eric said quietly. "I received it from Appius the day after the DNA test."

Pam opened the letter and immediately recognized her father's distinctive handwriting. She began to read. First, there was a list of demands that her father had for Eric—most of which were unreasonable or downright harsh—like the one about Eric marrying whomever Appius wanted or the one about Eric's kids being scheduled so that they would never really see Eric. Following that was a list of "incentives" that would be the rewards of Eric's compliance. Finally, there was a list of repercussions—which amounted to nothing short of blackmail—if Eric didn't submit.

"Oh my God," Pam said in disbelief, after reading the letter through twice. Suddenly, she felt Bobby's strong arm around her shoulder, and she was being pulled into his body. She'd never been more grateful for him, and she sank against his comforting embrace before looking up at her brother.

"Eric?" she asked, though she wasn't sure what she was asking for.

"In the end, I was able to negotiate a better contract for myself," he said.

"What did that cost you?" Pam asked astutely.

"Seven percent of the stock Grandpa John left me."

"The seven percent you gave Nora a few years ago?" Pam asked.

Eric nodded, and Pam immediately felt a rush of guilt. The fact that Eric had given Nora half of his stock for seemingly no reason had been a point of contention between the siblings, mostly because Pam had whined because Eric hadn't given her any of his stock.

"So you have a contract with Father?" Pam asked.

Eric nodded. "When I'm thirty-five, I will be made CEO, and Appius will step down, but there are conditions. First, there will be an expiration date on my tenure as CEO—twenty years. Second, if I don't keep the company within certain profit margins, Appius will be able to step in. Third, I must marry someone Appius would deem appropriate before my thirty-fifth birthday and stay married to that person for as long as I am CEO."

Pam interrupted him and looked at Sookie. "You knew about this?"

"Yes," Sookie replied.

"Appius won't let it be you," Pam said to her.

"I know, but we're happy. I love him," Sookie said.

Pam and Bobby both breathed in sharply at the implications of her remark.

"I have a limited amount of time to be happy, Pam," Eric said in a low tone.

"Why did you do any of this at all? Why not just quit NP?" Pam asked, though she already knew the answer. Eric had been trying to protect the people he cared for—just as he'd always looked out for her.

"You, Godric, everyone in my division, Mormor. Our grandfathers. They were both very," he paused, "kind to me. And Northman Publishing and Larsson Publishing are together now. If I leave, Appius will eliminate the international division, and Larsson Publishing will be gone forever."

"You'll have to give up Sookie—eventually," Pam said quietly.

Eric tensed up, and it was Sookie who commented. "Eric and I will have as long as we have. Some people don't get even a day to feel the way I feel when I'm with your brother. I'm lucky. We're lucky."

Pam's eyes narrowed as she took them both in for a moment. Part of her wanted to accuse Sookie of somehow manipulating Eric into making up everything that she'd learned that night, but her gut told her the truth. And the letter—clearly in her father's handwriting—confirmed it. That letter had threatened her brother's freedom—as well as everyone he cared about.

That was a truth that couldn't be ignored.

Plus, Pam wasn't blind. It had always been apparent that Eric and her father weren't close, but Pam had assumed that their tepidity was something mutual between them. She'd believed her father when he'd told her that Eric had to receive extra tutoring throughout his school years. She'd believed her father when he'd said that Eric had insisted upon spending the summers in Sweden. She'd overlooked the fact that she'd never seen a "room" in the house for Eric, even though Alexei had a room—despite the fact that he hadn't lived at home for years. Hell! Pam hadn't lived in her father's home for close to eleven years, yet she still had her room, where there were fresh linens and flowers placed whenever she was at home—just on the off chance that she would stay overnight.

Pam closed her eyes and tried to think of the answer to the question Bobby had asked her earlier. "What had Eric's childhood been like?"

If she was being honest with herself, she'd known two Eric's—the attentive brother who'd kept an eye on her in Sweden and the introverted boy who'd stayed out of the way at their father's home. Both of the boys had been shy and pensive. However, she couldn't help but to acknowledge the truth of Eric's earlier words: their father's home hadn't been Eric's "home" at all.

Pam practically jumped to her feet. Suddenly the huge room and Bobby's strong arms seemed to be closing in on her, and she couldn't breathe properly.

"I have to go," she said abruptly as she turned and quickly left the room.

She was at the elevator and had pushed the button already when Eric came up behind her.

"Please don't say anything to Appius about Sookie and me—or about any of this," he begged in an agonized voice. "Shun me if you must. Choose him if you must. I wouldn't blame you for either. But—please—I'm happy, Pam. I've never had that, and I think I can have it for a while if I'm careful and if Sookie stays. And she's said that she'll stay," he added in a clearly stunned tone, "despite how fucked up everything is—how fucked up I am. Please don't tell him."

"You love her," Pam stated as she turned to face her brother.

Eric took a deep breath as if he'd been hit in the gut. "Appius takes or threatens everything I like, Pam—let alone the things I love. I'm so afraid that he'll take you—and her. I just can't," he paused. "I just can't think about losing Sookie right now."

Pam looked into her brother's blue eyes. She was used to them displaying coolness or lust for a beautiful woman. She was used to them exhibiting confidence and calm when it came to business. She was used to them watching out for her.

"Father won't take me," she whispered. "I just need time to process things—okay? But we'll talk tomorrow. Bring Sookie down to my place for dinner at 8:00?"

Eric nodded, though Pam could tell that he was still nervous.

"Hey—I won't tell Father anything about you and Sookie," Pam assured after a moment. "I love you, Eric. You're min bror," she said, the emotion thick in her voice.

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, trying to conceal her hurt that he'd not trusted her.

"Sookie," Eric said in a whisper.

"Sookie stopped you from telling me?" she asked in confusion.

"No—she helped me to understand that I could tell you," he responded.

Pam looked into her brother's blue eyes again and saw what Bobby had seen before—happiness. Bobby had been right. It was a new look for Eric, and it lingered despite the obvious difficulty of their talk.

"Send Sookie down at 7:00 so that we can have some girl talk before you show up?"

Eric immediately tensed. "Pam?"

"I'll need help cooking," Pam explained.

"I don't know if she'd be comfortable with that," he said.

"I won't bite her, Eric," Pam responded, feeling more and more like herself. "I might make her do her nails, however. They're deplorable!"

Eric shook his head. "Okay, Pam. I'll ask her. If not, we'll come down together at 8:00."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"Pam?" Eric said as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival. "Thanks."

She exhaled loudly. "I didn't realize what was happening, Eric. I didn't know."

"You couldn't have," he said comfortingly. He sighed. "Appius will know if you start to act differently toward him."

Pam nodded. "I know. I'm still trying to figure out what to do about all this—about him—but I already know what to do about you, Eric."

"And what's that?" he asked with trepidation.

She smiled a little. "I'll do for you what you always did for me. I'll watch out for you."


	56. Girl Talk

Chapter 56: Girl Talk

At any given moment when she was at home, Sookie knew that Pam might be only twenty feet away from her. After all, Pam lived on the floor right below Eric and—as of about four hours before—her. However, as she rode the elevator to Pam's home, that one-floor difference seemed like a mile.

Sookie had taken the day off from work that day. Sam was actually glad she'd asked for it since the people in the HR department didn't like for vacation days or sick days to accumulate. And, even with Sookie taking two weeks off in July, she still had a cache of such days built up.

It hadn't taken Sookie much time to pack the rest of her belongings at Amelia's brownstone, especially since her friend had taken the afternoon off to help her. She and Amelia had promised to have cocktails and/or dinner every Thursday—at the very least. And Amelia had volunteered to bring Sookie's mail when they got together—since having it sent to Eric's home would leave a paper trail that could be followed.

For practicality's sake, Sookie had left a few items at Amelia's, and since she was going to continue to pay 1/3 rent for the room—an arrangement which she and Amelia had gone 'round and 'round about since Amelia hadn't wanted her to pay anything—Sookie felt okay in doing that.

Beyond the few toiletries and the single outfit she left behind, everything Sookie owned—not counting the items she'd taken to Eric's earlier in the week—had fit into two medium-sized boxes.

Sookie shook her head. No wonder Pam had been shocked that she was with Eric.

Eric had rented Sookie a small van—along with a driver—so that she wouldn't have to try to manage her belongings in a taxi or on the subway, and he'd apologized profusely that he couldn't be there to help her. However, he had meetings all day.

In truth, Sookie hadn't needed any heavy lifters. Most of the books she read were from the library, and all of the furniture and linens she used were Amelia's. The only items she actually owned were her clothes and shoes, a small wooden box with a couple of pieces of jewelry inside, her toiletries, her two pictures, some notebooks, a few paperbacks from her time at college, a data storage device, and the jar that she'd bought to house the tiny slips of paper that decided which gallery of the MET she would visit each week.

People looking in from the outside might have thought her life empty if they took into account only her possessions, but Sookie now felt that her life was amazingly full.

Having transferred her library membership to a branch on the Upper West Side, she'd asked the mover Eric had hired to stop by the Carroll Gardens branch so that she could return her and Eric's checked-out books. That errand done, the mover had driven her to Eric's home—their home—and Henry had insisted upon carrying Sookie's items up for her.

After half an hour, Sookie had been completely unpacked and the empty boxes had been broken down by Henry, who couldn't stop talking about the cookies she'd made for him and the rest of the crew the week before. It hadn't been difficult to work out that he was fishing for more treats—even as he pilfered one of the Pop Tarts in Eric's pantry—but she'd smiled at him indulgently, knowing that she'd be making a lot more sweets for the guards of the building as long as she lived there.

Eric had arrived home at 6:15 and had found her taking a relaxing bath. Neither of them had said a word as he'd climbed into the tub with her. She was still on her period, so there had been no hanky-panky—beyond kissing and caressing—but they'd both been satisfied with just being close.

The same had been true the night before. A few minutes after Pam had left, Eric had sent Bobby to make sure that she was okay, and then Sookie and Eric had settled into the hot tub outside for a while. The cool night had amplified the experience as Sookie and Eric had held each other, both glad that the long, difficult day was over.

At 6:45, Sookie had kissed Eric soundly on the lips and left their bath. She'd dressed quickly, opting to wear a pair of navy capris and a white and navy blouse; she'd also worn her running shoes.

Eric hadn't missed the symbolism of the shoes when he'd been waiting at their elevator to see her off; of course, the fact that he'd been wearing only a towel hadn't made it any easier for her to go—not at all! Just as she'd been contemplating whether he looked better in the towel on in the buff, he'd given her a long, slow kiss and reminded her that she could come home at any time if Pam made her feel uncomfortable.

In truth, Sookie had already planned her escape route—thus, the running shoes. Early during her stay the week before, she'd been entered into the security system by Henry, so she could access the emergency stairs as well as the elevator. Also, when Henry had carried up her belongings, she'd told him that she had "officially met" Pam as Eric's girlfriend and that Pam had asked her to come over earlier than Eric that night in order to have some "girl talk." Henry's reaction had been to write down a code Sookie could use to open the emergency exit doors at Pam's house without setting off the building alarms.

Eric had shown her the locations of the emergency staircases in his house already; there was one in the kitchen and one in his office. Sookie figured it would be easy enough to find the exits in Pam's house as well since the doors led to common stairwells. Since she'd been entered into the security system, all she had needed was the code out of Pam's house. She already knew the code to get back into her and Eric's home; it, like the codes to the terrace doors, was "poptart" and required her fingerprint as well. She patted her pocket to make sure Pam's code was there; it was.

Sookie smiled a little. She was already planning to make a batch of cookies for Henry the next evening, and she'd be writing more Pop Tarts onto the grocery list as well.

She took a deep breath as the elevator stopped and the doors opened; Pam was waiting in her foyer. Sookie quickly slapped on a smile that probably looked as fake as it felt.

"Hi, Ms. North—I mean—Hi, Pam."

"Hi, Sookie. I wasn't sure you'd come early," Pam said cautiously.

"Eric said you needed help—uh—cooking," Sookie replied, even as she thrust out her hand to give Pam the bunch of flowers she'd picked up earlier. Gran had taught her to never go to someone's house the first time without a gift.

"Thanks," Pam said, taking the flowers. "And yes. I could use your help with some things."

"Sure," Sookie said nervously as Pam led them to the side of her house that was right under the "gray area" in Eric's home. However, instead to taking Sookie to a kitchen, Pam led her to an elegant living room area, complete with a gas fireplace with a richly detailed hearth.

Pam gestured toward the couch and then laid the bunch of flowers down carefully onto the coffee table before sitting down as well.

Sookie looked around nervously. Pam's home was definitely more feminine than Eric's. The side of the house she was in was open, just like the "gray side" above her. However, Pam had decorated her space in blues. There were pops of color here and there from flowers or paintings, and the overall effect was quite lovely.

Neither woman spoke for almost a full minute.

"Uh—you have a lovely home," Sookie finally said, her apprehension clear.

"You should see my closets," Pam said, brushing off the compliment.

Sookie couldn't quite stifle her nervous giggle.

"What?" Pam asked.

"Eric."

"Eric?"

"Yeah. He said that you were irritated when he beat you at Rock, Paper, Scissors and got the house with the terrace. But he also said that you reconciled yourself with the fact that you had more square footage for closets here."

Pam smiled a little. "Yeah—well. I'm sure he uses the terrace more than I would have. He's always liked," she paused for a moment, "being outside." She shook her head and brushed a tear from her eye quickly, pretending as if it was never there.

There was more awkward silence between them.

Pam finally broke through the quiet. "When we were young—during Christmas breaks—Eric would sometimes hang out with Nora and me. And, of course, after Alexei was born, he'd be around too." She paused. "There's a pool room at Daddy's place, and we always hung out in there. Nora's mom set up lots of games in there too."

Sookie nodded for Pam to continue.

"Nora loved to swim, and I had fun in the pool too," Pam conveyed, "but for some reason Alexei was afraid to learn how to swim." She smiled as if accessing her memories. "He was a cute kid though. And he'd get into the pool with us, but he always had to have these big wing things on his arms. He cried when anyone—including Daddy—tried to get him to take them off."

"Eric is teaching me to swim," Sookie supplied with a little smile when Pam didn't speak for a while.

Pam nodded. "It was Eric who finally taught Alexei to swim without his little wings on. Eric's always been good with us though—with me, Nora, and Alexei. And then later with Gracie and now Appius, Jr. He's got this sense of quiet calmness about him." She sighed. "It's easy to trust him."

Sookie nodded. "Yeah."

Pam chuckled. "He was amazing with Alexei. Father had been trying to teach him to swim for months, but Eric taught him in a day." She shrugged. "And the funny thing was that he didn't even have to try! Eric, Nora, and I were in the pool playing Marco Polo during one of the days that Eric was home for winter break. I think Alexei was around seven, which would have made Eric almost fifteen. Anyway, Alexei was just sitting by the side of the pool and motioned for Eric to swim over. He whispered something to Eric, and the next thing Nora or I knew, Alexei was in the water, floating on his back like he didn't have a care in the world."

Sookie smiled. She could easily visualize Eric helping his little brother like that. "He taught me how to float first too," she volunteered.

Pam took in the woman who so clearly loved her brother. Twenty-four hours before, her main question had been how Eric and Sookie could have gotten together. However, now that question seemed unimportant and irrelevant. After what Pam had come to know the night before, she was just glad that they had.

Pam continued her story. "Not two days later, Alexei was swimming like a fish and playing Marco Polo with us, though Eric always lost to him—to all of us—on purpose. Eric was such a good swimmer though—amazing even."

Sookie nodded in agreement.

Pam smirked a little. "Frankly, I was always a little unnatural in the water. I wasn't really afraid—at least not in the pool where it was easy to get to the sides or the shallow end. But in the lake near Mormor's house, I was always a little apprehensive." She looked at Sookie probingly. "But Eric always seemed to know that. I never said anything and he never said anything, but whenever I was in that lake, he was always around. It's still that way."

Sookie smiled. "That sounds like him."

Pam closed her eyes. "I'm not going to lie and say that it doesn't hurt that you seem to know him better than I ever have."

Sookie surprised herself and Pam by reaching out to pat Pam's arm. "I think that if you look inside yourself, you'll find that you do know him," she said softly.

Pam nodded and quickly brushed away another tear. "As I said," she resumed, sitting up a little straighter, "there were some days when Eric would hang out with Nora, Alexei, and me in the pool room. But there were other days when he wouldn't play with us at all—when he just went outside and read. And there would be nothing Nora or I could say to talk him into playing with us on those days. I always thought that Eric was weird for wanting to be outside so much—especially since it was usually so cold when he visited." She sighed deeply. "And—then—there were some days when he just seemed to disappear altogether. He'd be at dinner, but he wouldn't speak. And—the rest of the time—I wouldn't be able to find him, not even if I went outside to look around." She paused. "Those days were all I could think about when I got home last night. And then it hit me!"

"What hit you?" Sookie asked, when Pam was silent for half a minute.

"Eric basically vanished on the days when Father wasn't working at NP—on the days when he was at home," Pam said. She took a deep, shaky breath. "No matter how cold it got—or even if it was snowing—Eric went outside when Father was home." Her voice grew quieter. "And I think that Eric found a hiding place outside—a place where no one could find him." She shook her head. "I just never recognized the connection between Father being home and Eric disappearing before."

Sookie brushed her own tear away as Pam continued to speak.

"The more I thought about the times when Eric was at the house, the more I remembered little things," Pam paused, "like Eric not getting very many presents under the Christmas tree each year. Beth—did Eric tell you about her?" Pam paused to ask Sookie.

"Yes," Sookie answered softly.

"Well—Beth made stockings for Eric and me the first year after she married my father; she was good at making things like that, actually. And the stockings were huge! They had our names in big letters, and I helped her by putting glitter on the names." Pam smiled at the memory. "Eric's stocking had a train on it, and mine had a Christmas angel. Even though I was only four, the memory of seeing Eric's stocking is vivid to me, and my angel stocking is still used every Christmas." She paused. "But I never saw Eric's again. Even that first year, it wasn't hung up with the other stockings. I remember asking Daddy where it was, and he told me that Eric didn't believe in Santa Claus, so he was not left anything by him. I was so young at the time, but I remember thinking that Eric was crazy to not believe in Santa because he brought toys only to kids who believed in him."

Pam continued. "When we were kids, Nora, Alexei, and I always got stockings filled to the brim, as well as dozens of toys under the tree. I thought and I thought and I thought last night, and I couldn't remember Eric ever getting anything like that. Even when Nora and I got older and stopped believing in Santa, we would receive tons of gifts—electronics, games, purses, jewelry, expensive clothing. I remember bustling around with Nora every Christmas morning showing everybody my new things. I remember opening present after present from Daddy and Beth and—later—from Tamara. But I had a hard time remembering Eric at all on those mornings. And then I thought about how he acts at Christmas now, and I realized that he's always been kind of the same."

"Will you tell me?" Sookie whispered.

Pam closed her eyes as if she were collapsing twenty-five Christmases into a single memory. "The Christmas tree is always set up in the large family room, and there's a chair kind of off to the side of the room. Eric sits there—every year. Daddy always sits on the main couch, and I realized that, with the tree set up, Daddy wouldn't even be able to see Eric from where they are both sitting." She shook her head. "I remember Eric always getting boring things when we were growing up; he would just get clothes—simple ones too—like off-brand Polo shirts and plain coats. Never anything trendy like the rest of us got. I always wondered why he would put only cheap clothes on his Christmas list." She sighed. "But since Nora, Alexei, and I always got exactly what we wanted, I assumed that Eric did too."

Her eyes opened, and they looked a little haunted. "In my mind, I developed this idea that Eric didn't really want gifts, and when I think about where that idea came from, I remember something my father told me about Eric not liking to play with toys. It was just one more thing that made Eric strange to me, but I didn't question whether Daddy was telling me the truth."

"Why would you?" Sookie commented reassuringly.

"That's kind of you to say," Pam said quietly before resuming her story. "When I got older, I figured that Eric may have been against the consumerism of Christmas—or something ridiculous like that. I never asked him."

She shook her head with regret. "Eric certainly never gave out gifts to anyone when he was young, though the rest of us exchanged. From the time we were pretty small, Beth helped Nora and me pick out presents for other family members. And later—once we were getting our allowances—we always chose the gifts we would give out. Daddy told us that we shouldn't get anything for Eric since he didn't like Christmas and couldn't take things to school anyway." She sighed. "But then—out of nowhere—Eric gave the family little presents when he was nineteen. Do you know why he gave them to us that year?" she asked Sookie with curiosity in her eyes.

Sookie could only guess, but she told Pam what she thought. "After Eric graduated from high school, he went to Harvard on a full scholarship, which included room and board. Before he turned 18, Appius would make sure he had some new clothing each year, and he also purchased Eric's airline tickets to Sweden each summer. As far as I know, Eric didn't have much money of his own, except for what he'd earned helping to take care of the horses at his boarding school. However, when Eric was eighteen, he," she paused, "got into a little trouble when he tried to use the money he'd saved to come to Manhattan for Christmas Day. Godric, his headmaster from Murray Academy, talked to Appius that year, and—after that talk—I know that Eric was given forty thousand dollars to cover his expenses until he turned twenty-one."

Sookie sighed. "Eric had to use most of that money for clubs that your father told him to join. And some of the money was used to buy his summer tickets to Sweden, as well as clothing and school books. And, of course, he used it to fund his meals and travel expenses during other school vacations too. The presents must have come from that money as well." Sookie paused. "I think that was probably the first time that Eric had any money he could use for gifts."

Pam took a deep breath. "During my college years at Stanford, I didn't want to live in the dorms, even though I had a scholarship to cover them, so Daddy bought me a house—a fucking beach house near Miramar—and he sent me five thousand dollars a month for expenses even though he always paid all my bills. Sometimes I asked for more."

Sookie laughed a little to keep from crying. "Eric wouldn't have asked for more, but I know he made due. I know that he was very grateful at that time because his scholarship didn't allow him to get a job for his first few years of college."

Pam shook her head a little. "I was an unimaginable bitch to Eric that first year he got us all gifts. I was seventeen at the time, and his gift stuck out because I'd never gotten anything from him before. He'd bought me this little set of nail polishes, but I could tell the polish was cheap. Hell—it was a generic brand! Nora received the same thing, and I remember us throwing the gifts away." She sighed with regret and brushed away a tear that she didn't even try to hide this time. "We didn't intend for Eric to know that we'd tossed out his gifts, but he was helping Markus with the trash for some reason, so he saw them. Nora and I apologized, of course, and explained that we couldn't use the polish because it was cheap and would stain our nails yellow. We thought he was just a dumb guy who didn't know the right brands to get, so we wrote them down for him."

Pam shook her head ruefully. "He didn't buy us anything for a few years. We thought he was pissed at us or had gone back to his anti-gift-giving ways. When he did start again, he bought us really nice things. He still does—you know. Every year, he'll buy us an amazing pair of shoes or an expensive purse due out in the spring."

"He knows that you will like those things," Sookie said carefully.

"Looking back, I realize that the gifts started again when Eric was twenty-one, which was when he would have had access to his inheritance from Grandfather John." Pam sighed. "I can't remember a time when I got Eric a gift." She shook her head. "Of course, that's because everyone knows he doesn't like gifts," she added remorsefully.

Pam closed her eyes tightly. "Of course, Eric never told me that, but I just assumed because of what my father said when we were kids. Again—I thought it was some kind of political statement or something. Now, Sophie-Anne insists upon giving him something each year—usually a God-awful Christmas tie. She thinks she's being funny or ironic, and she calls him Scrooge. But I've," she paused, "noticed that Gracie gives Eric something every year, but it's handmade."

Sookie smiled. "She makes him a card every year. He's got a stack of them. I found them in my nightstand the other day." She paused. "And what about the pictures you took in Sweden? You gave those to Eric—right?" Sookie asked, trying to make Pam feel better. "Eric told me that those were a housewarming gift."

Pam sighed. "Sort of. He asked me for copies of the pictures, and then I made sure they were framed properly because I didn't trust his taste."

"Well—I think that counts," Sookie said decisively. "And I know that Eric doesn't need gifts to know you love him."

"It's not just the gifts though," Pam said with another deep sigh. "Looking back there are a hundred things that showed just how badly Father treated Eric. I mean—I was always a little jealous of Nora because she was Father's favorite, but I was sort of Beth's favorite in a lot of ways, so it wasn't that big of a deal. And Father still spoiled me and Alexei and then Gracie before Tamara and he divorced. And he dotes on little Appius, Jr. But I've never seen my father do one nice thing for Eric; I've never heard him say one nice thing. I guess I just assumed that he did those things when I wasn't looking, but that's not the case—is it?"

"No," Sookie confirmed.

"Is he okay? I mean—is Eric okay now?"

Sookie nodded, though her eyes held a lot of pain for the man she loved. "He's doing the best he can with the hand he's been dealt." She sighed. "I also had a parent who mistreated me, and that mistreatment was my normal; it's all I ever knew. It's the same with Eric. Part of him, however, will always want to please Appius—because part of him will always be the little boy sitting in the shadow of the Christmas tree who didn't understand why everyone else was being treated differently than he was. Part of him will always be the little boy being told by Appius that he wasn't good enough. And the part of him that internalized that message will always feel that Appius was right—even though he has intellectualized that Appius was simply being cruel for the sake of his revenge against your mother." She paused. "I can empathize with Eric in a lot of ways, but in other ways your father was even crueler to him than my mother was to me. But—importantly—I'm no longer trapped by my mother, even though I still sometimes hear her critical voice in my head."

"But Eric's still trapped," Pam observed.

Sookie nodded.

"You're helping him—though—to be happy?" Pam asked.

"We're loving each other," Sookie responded. "And since neither of us has ever had someone who loved us like we love each other, it's helping both of us."

Pam nodded.

"Pam?" Sookie asked after a minute.

"Yes?"

"I hope you'll be there for Eric when he and I have to say goodbye," Sookie said quietly. "Will you promise me that you will be? I worry about him. He thinks he'll be okay because—as a child—he became so numb to losing the things that mattered to him. And his defense has always been not to allow things to matter to him too much. But some things have slipped in: NP, you, Gracie, A.J., your mormor, Bobby, and now me. I think he's always been afraid that Appius would do something to alienate his siblings from his life, but he hasn't been able to keep himself from caring for you all. He really does love with his whole heart too; I've felt it. But he's so afraid of losing something he loves that he's frightened to say he loves it out loud. He's afraid that Appius will come swooping in and take it, just as he took away his friends and the things he liked doing when he was a child."

Pam brushed away another tear, again not trying to conceal it. "I'll always be there for Eric. Nothing my father does could stop me—especially now that I know what he has done to Eric over the years."

Sookie sighed. "I am not condoning Appius at all, but it's clear that his hatred of Eric stems from his own pain. However, Appius wasn't a strong enough individual to overcome that pain, and he took it out on Eric, and I hate him for that. But—for you—it must be hard. He's always treated you well."

"Yes," Pam said as uncertainty and guilt filled her eyes. "I don't know what to do about my father, Sookie. I love him, but the man that did what he did to Eric is someone I hate."

Sookie reached over and patted Pam's arm again. "I don't envy your situation, Pam."

"Shit!" Pam exclaimed as another tear slipped down her face. She glanced at the clock. "Shit!" she repeated more loudly. "Come on!" She rose quickly and grabbed the flowers Sookie had brought before leading Sookie through a section of the large space that looked like a sitting room. Next, Pam went through a door, which led to a small dining room, and then into a kitchen. Both rooms had white as their dominant color; however, the kitchen had a few oak cabinets to complement the starkness of the white.

"I'll just put this in the oven to warm," Pam said, taking a large tin from a bag that said Marcello's on the side.

Sookie suppressed a grin. Eric had told her that Pam's idea of "cooking" was ordering take-out and heating it up. Pam grabbed a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and quickly uncorked it and poured two glasses. She took a long drink immediately.

"Eric will be here in fifteen minutes, and you shouldn't look like you've been crying," she said matter-of-factly. "If he sees that you have been, he will assume I made you cry by saying something to offend you, which I haven't—have I?"

"No," Sookie replied with a smile.

"Good," Pam said proudly. "I've been trying very hard to be nice."

Sookie shook her head a little. "Um—thanks."

"It's just that I wanted someone to talk to about all this stuff," Pam explained. "And I'm not ready to talk to Eric about it yet. And Bobby and I didn't . . . ."

"Talk much?" Sookie supplied helpfully.

Pam smirked a little. "I knew that Eric knew about Bobby and me. Bobby just likes to pretend that he doesn't."

Sookie smiled a little. "It's good that you had Bobby last night."

Pam nodded. "I wish he . . . ," she paused.

"Were a woman?" Sookie finished.

"Exactly! Bobby with a vagina and a nice pair of tits would be perfect!" she exclaimed.

Sookie and Pam both chuckled.

Pam sighed. "Maybe when we're in Sweden, Eric and I can talk," she said taking another big gulp of wine before putting her glass down onto the counter. "And though I really tried to talk to Bobby last night, I just fell into bed with him—not that I don't want to fall into bed with you," she rambled. "Now that I've really looked at you, I've realized that you're actually quite attractive and close to the type of woman I've been going for lately. You don't swing that way—do you?"

"Um—no."

"Pity," Pam said, still sizing Sookie up.

Sookie took a long drink of her own wine, but then laughed.

"What?" Pam asked.

"Eric warned me that there might be lesbian weirdness."

"Oh come on," Pam grinned, her eyebrow arching just like her brother's might, "haven't you ever even tried a woman?"

"I've barely tried men," Sookie chuckled. "And after your brother, I'm pretty certain about my sexual orientation."

Pam chuckled and then grabbed Sookie's hand. "Come—let's fix our faces before Eric gets here."

She led Sookie through the kitchen to a hallway and then entered the first door on her left. Sookie gasped a little.

"You like?" Pam asked with a smirk.

"Wow! What is it with you Northmans and tubs?" Sookie exclaimed as she took in the amazing bathroom. It had large windows along one side, and anyone in the bathtub would have a gorgeous view of the park. There was also a clear shower, not as large as Eric's shower, but still quite impressive. It also was next to a floor-to-ceiling window.

"It's a Swedish thing," Pam said offhandedly.

"Aren't you scared that people will be able to look in?" Sookie asked.

"The windows are tinted, making that almost impossible." She grinned with satisfaction. "Eric might have a hot tub on his balcony, but I think he still envies me this tub and shower. He's just pissed that his little 'man cave' is in the interior of his house," she cackled a bit.

Sookie shook her head fondly as she thought about that "man cave" and the many pleasurable hours she'd spent there with Eric.

"Here," Pam said, turning around and going to the long counter that ran along the wall opposite the windows. She grabbed a wash rag and handed it to Sookie. "You can use this to wash your tear streaks." She pulled out another washrag and a makeup bag. "You can help yourself to anything in here too," Pam said, gesturing toward the bag.

Looking in the mirror, Sookie couldn't really see anything amiss, but she indulged Pam anyway by dutifully rinsing her face. Since she'd been wearing minimal makeup, she was done "fixing her face" in just a moment, while Pam applied some eyeliner, powder, and lipstick as if it were an Olympic sport.

"This side of the house is where my master bedroom is," Pam volunteered, "so you needn't ever worry about being loud with Eric—not that I could hear anything anyway with the way this building has been constructed."

Immediately, Sookie blushed a deep crimson. "Uh—okay," she said awkwardly.

"When Eric and I decided to both live in this building," Pam continued, "I think he purposely put his master bedroom on the opposite side of the building from mine because he didn't want to hear what I was up to." She moved on to mascara.

"Uh—okay," Sookie repeated, not really knowing how else to respond to Pam's topic. She tried to occupy herself by once more looking around the bathroom.

"Take a look around the house if you want," Pam suggested. "Yes—explore the house. Eric will be here in a little while, and I'll meet him at the elevator."

Sookie nodded. "Okay."

Pam smiled. "Thanks. Just come back around to the kitchen when you're done," she said.

"Uh—okay," Sookie said yet again, a little surprised that Pam had invited her to wander around, but glad to have something to do other than watching Pam apply makeup. Plus, she didn't want to begrudge Pam and Eric a minute or two alone together. She knew that they needed it.

Sookie went to the door at the far end of the bathroom, which she figured led to Pam's bedroom. She was right.

Pam's room looked like something out of a magazine. The color pallet was white with a little bit of gray and a little bit of pink. Along the outer wall, different sizes of windows had been placed to create an interesting pattern. And other squares had been cut into the wall to make shelves. The effect was unlike anything Sookie had ever seen. She figured that the room put the "Feng" into Feng Shui.

Once Sookie exited the bedroom, she saw two sets of French doors across the hall. Entering the first one, she gasped.

"Geez," she muttered to herself. "It's not a closet; it's a boutique!" Wide-eyed, Sookie looked around. Actually, the room was more like a shoe boutique. There were shelves and shelves full of shoes, as well as shelves and shelves brimming with purses and other accessories. Sookie left that room and then entered the other set of French doors. Not surprisingly, there was another amazing room/closet, this one actually for clothing.

As Sookie continued to explore Pam's house at a moderate pace, she could tell that the same tasteful, elegant hand had decorated every room. There was a music room complete with a grand piano and a harp. There was another living room/sitting room and then an entertainment room, complete with a little theater. There was also a small office as well as two guest rooms. All in all, the house was gorgeous and well-styled, just like Pam herself. By the time she'd worked her way back to the kitchen, she heard Eric's voice.

"I think I'll go look for her," Eric said.

Pam scoffed. "Really, Eric, it's not like I killed her and hid the body," Pam said in a snarky tone, even as Sookie walked into the kitchen. "See? She's perfectly unharmed."

Eric was next to Sookie in two long strides. "You okay?" he asked.

Sookie smiled and rose onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Yeah—a little lesbian weirdness aside—Pam's been the perfect hostess," Sookie said, grabbing the glass of wine she'd left on the counter and taking a sip.

"I told you so," Pam said triumphantly.

Eric looked at Pam with mild surprise. "So you did."

Sookie smiled at the siblings, envying the fact that they were close, despite the differences in the way they'd been raised. In the sibling department, Eric had been lucky. From what Sookie had heard, all of Eric's siblings—including even Nora—seemed to think highly of him. Sookie was glad, at least, that Appius hadn't actively bred derision between Eric and his brothers and sisters. But she was also sad that she and Jason would never share a moment like the one she was witnessing between Eric and Pam.

"What is it?" Eric asked, a look of concern on his face. Pam was wearing a similar look, and Sookie realized that a tear had fallen from her eye.

Sookie smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I was just envying you and Pam a little because of Jason," she said.

"Jason?" Pam asked.

"Yes—my brother," Sookie said. "Unfortunately, we were never close. My mom encouraged him to be," she paused, "distant from me."

"Oh," Pam said. She smiled up at Eric. "Yes. We're lucky to have each other. I've heard horror stories about other big brothers, but mine was always nice to me."

Sookie couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips at seeing Pam and Eric together. She could tell that Pam's knowledge of Eric's background would only make them closer, and she was grateful about that.

"So—Sookie agrees with me that my bathroom is head and shoulders above yours," Pam winked over at Sookie.

"You just made yours like that because I was already planning on putting in a hot tub," Eric returned.

The two siblings continued to squabble—the casual playfulness of their jesting being just what they needed, given the emotional nature of the previous day. Sookie enjoyed the moment. It was a family moment, and she felt like she belonged in it.


	57. Much Needed

Chapter 57: Much Needed

To say that Sookie had been nervous when AirBerlin Flight 7289 took off from JFK Airport would have been an understatement. However, when the plane met with substantial turbulence as it made its way over the Atlantic Ocean, her fear quadrupled, and the flight attendant had to warn her more than once not to crawl completely into Eric's lap.

To help allay her fears, Eric had allowed Sookie to use his body as a security blanket when she needed to hold onto him. In fact, he'd been more than happy to oblige—despite the fact that she'd left several faint bruises on his arm from where she'd gripped him tightly as the plane shuddered through the rough air. Thankfully, their second flight after a short layover in Berlin was much smoother, and the pair had even fallen asleep as they'd leaned into each other during the second—and last—leg of their trip.

Now—as they moved through customs—Eric grinned as Sookie's face lit up when she received the first stamp in her passport.

"Gothenburg, Sweden," she read proudly, showing him the little booklet as they moved beyond the security checkpoint. They'd flown into the second largest city in Sweden—instead of Stockholm—since Gothenburg was the closest international airport to Elsa Larsson's home.

He chuckled a little. "Gothenburg was my first stamp too; I got it when I was six."

Sookie's face fell a little. "Did you have to fly alone?" She shuddered a little at the thought.

Eric took a breath. "Yeah, I remember being a little nervous at first, but I got used to it, and the flight attendants looked after me. I read The Hobbit and got all the orange soda I asked for."

Sookie smiled. "Orange soda—huh?"

His smile returned as well. "Yep. I used to love it, and I only ever got it on airplanes."

"You didn't get one today?" she teased.

He chuckled. "Nope. You were all the sweet I needed."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You're cheesy, Mr. Northman."

He tickled her side a little.

She quickly moved away from his marauding fingers, but he grabbed her hand to bring her back to him before placing a quick kiss onto her forehead.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go get our bags."

Sookie's smile faded and she immediately tensed up.

"Hey," Eric said, catching her chin and lifting it gently. "Mormor is going to love you."

She bit her lip nervously. "You think?"

"I know."

She rewarded his reassuring words with a kiss to his cheek before her eyebrows furrowed again. "Okay. But aren't you worried about what our two grandmothers have been up to—especially after their texts last night? And then there was Pam's text!"

Eric frowned a little. "Yeah. I just hope that Pam didn't corrupt them too much."

"They were both drunk texting, Eric," Sookie said flatly. "I think it's too late for wishing that."

"I'm well aware, min älskare," Eric said with a little chuckle.

Adele Stackhouse had arrived in Gothenburg the day before, and to avoid having to drive back and forth to Lidköping, because they couldn't be talked out of meeting Sookie and Eric's plane, the two grandmothers had decided to get to know each other by spending the day—and, apparently, most of the night—together in Gothenburg. Elsa and Adele had "gotten on like a house afire," according to one of Gran's "tamer" texts to Sookie.

Pam had encouraged the two elderly women to go to PUSH, a popular nightclub in Gothenburg. Apparently, the grandmothers were something of a "hit" with the much younger crowd, especially the "young gentlemen," and spurred on by Pam—no doubt—the older women had danced and flirted and drank the night away.

At 6:00 p.m. the previous evening—which had been 11:00 in Gothenburg—Eric had received his first text from Mormor. She'd asked him if it would be seen as impolite if she turned down a young gentleman who had offered to give her a Screaming Orgasm.

About a minute later, Gran had texted Sookie wondering if Sex on the Beach was acceptable nowadays—since it was frowned upon in her day.

Having been in the middle of their own mind-blowing sex—though it hadn't been on a beach—Sookie and Eric hadn't immediately picked up their phones. However, after a 'screaming orgasm' or two of their own, they had checked their phones as they finished packing. By that point, they'd missed several messages from their grandmothers, in which they'd mentioned progressively naughtier drink names. Pam had also texted them both to say that she now had hope for her own old age because Adele and Elsa were well on their way to seducing men who could have been their great-grandchildren.

After reading that, Sookie and Eric had both immediately called their grandmothers, who had answered their phones giggling like schoolgirls. It had taken them all a little while to realize that Adele had actually answered Elsa's phone and vice versa. Pam had finally commandeered one of the phones and had assured Eric and Sookie that their grandmothers would get back to the hotel with their virtues intact—even if she had to drag them kicking and screaming.

When Pam had abruptly hung up—on both Eric and Sookie—neither of them had felt very reassured. And, as they walked toward baggage claim hand in hand, they both wondered about the state they'd find their grandmothers in.

Adele Stackhouse and Elsa Larsson were a study in contrasts in some ways, but in others they were exactly alike.

Adele had been raised to be a genteel Southern belle. She was naturally charming, and having manners was second nature to her. She had a smile for everyone she liked—and an even brighter smile for anyone she disliked. She always had tea and lemonade—as well as freshly-made cookies or sweetbread—ready for anyone who came by for a visit. And she was an old pro at making a tasty mint julep, which meant that she was visited often, especially by Sid Matt Lancaster, who came "courting" about once a week.

Like her contemporary, Elsa also had perfect manners, but hers were of a decidedly different ilk. She'd been born in Stockholm, but had moved with her diplomat father and mother to England when she was only two years old. There she had stayed through her early twenties; thus, when she spoke English, it was with a perfect British accent. Though not from a particularly wealthy family, Elsa's father's diplomat status had ensured that she attended the best schools—including the best finishing school—that Britain had to offer. If need be, Elsa Larsson could serve tea to the queen of England without breaking a sweat—though she would certainly prefer to spend an afternoon with the handsome Prince William, as opposed to the queen.

However, the two contrasted quite a bit in appearance. While Adele wore looser clothing and had let her gray hair have its way, Elsa was highly tailored, and her short hair was kept blonde. And when Elsa Larsson went to town, she was sure to wear her best. Of course, in that circumstance, Adele Stackhouse was the same, and she had arrived in Gothenburg in her best Sunday outfit and looking "fit as a fiddle," despite her long flights and her two-hour layover in Istanbul.

Recognizing a kindred spirit, each woman had liked the other from the start. Adele had arrived in the early afternoon, and they'd decided to go check into the hotel so that Adele could rest from her flight; however, the two grandmothers had spent the afternoon talking—while Pam had gone shopping. The elderly matrons could empathize with each other since they'd both outlived a husband that they didn't want to live without.

They'd also bonded over the fact that their financial circumstances had changed after their husbands' deaths. Both women's incomes had become more fixed, though they were doing okay for themselves, partially because of their grandchildren. Elsa shared that Eric had made sure that she would continue to get a small percentage of the profits from the division of Northman Publishing that used to be her husband's company. And Adele shared that Sookie always sent her several hundred dollars each month—just to make sure that she didn't have to dip into her savings.

Most of all, however, they'd bonded over their worry for their grandchildren. By the time their conversation was over, Adele had known all about Appius's forcing Eric into the paternity test, something that Elsa had learned from Peder. And Elsa had learned something of Sookie's childhood with Michelle.

Both grandmothers agreed that they probably didn't know even half of the details about the pain and suffering experienced by their grandchildren, and neither of them was really sure she wanted to know. They shared their guilt over not protecting their grandchildren from their abusers.

Both were happy that Eric and Sookie seemed to have found something they desperately needed in the other. And they agreed that their grandchildren had sounded happier since they had gotten together. But there was an edge to that happiness. Both of the grandmothers had been asked not to mention the fact that Sookie and Eric were in a relationship. And their grandchildren's desire for secrecy worried the matriarchs.

After their long afternoon of talking, Pam's suggestion that they visit a nightclub would have normally been met with reluctance by both Elsa and Adele; however, the two spirited ladies egged each other on. After all—they'd reasoned—they were still spry enough to keep up with the young ones.

It turned out that they were more than up for the challenge!

In fact, the camaraderie that they'd initially felt wasn't likely to disappear anytime soon, and the two women already considered themselves "sisters." They entered the airport arm in arm, laughing about the differences between British and American sayings. Pam dragged herself in behind them, her large, dark sunglasses covering half of her face.

The two grandmothers stopped in their tracks when they saw the blond pair ahead of them, waiting for their luggage. Even in a country full of tall blondes, Eric stood out, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt.

"Look at them," Adele whispered.

"I see," Elsa whispered back.

"Huh?" Pam contributed groggily and inelegantly as she tried to figure out why they'd stopped walking.

Elsa gave her granddaughter a roll of her eyes before looking back at the couple that had caught her and Adele's attention. Though only their backs could be seen, it was crystal clear that Eric and Sookie were content together—that there was something special between them. Eric's arm was wrapped securely around Sookie's shoulder, and her head was resting against his side. Her hand was wrapped around him and shoved into one of his back pockets.

There was a quiet comfort—a gentleness—about the way they stood. However, the air around them seemed to be charged with energy.

"I don't even need to see Sookie's face to know it will be happier than I've ever seen it," Adele remarked quietly—and sadly. "I never thought I'd see her so," she paused, "at ease with herself—so happy."

"I never thought I would see Eric happy either—when it wasn't a pretense," Elsa agreed in a low tone. The two grandmothers looked at each other and nodded in silent accord; if their more than 150 years of experience had anything to say about it, Eric and Sookie would stay happy.

Eric was nervously tapping his fingers on the gearshift when Sookie reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it. Elsa had rented a Volvo XC90 for the three weeks that she was having company because her tiny Fiat could barely hold two people, let alone the four traveling with her now. And—of course—she wouldn't hear of any of her guests renting a car.

As he'd packed the SUV, Eric had been happy for every inch of the large vehicle. Pam and his mormor both had overnight bags—which, in Pam's case was a regular suitcase—and Adele had packed for a week. Sookie and he had both traveled light, but they each still had a medium-sized suitcase and a carry-on bag. And, then, there had been Pam's shopping bags, which had ensured that the cargo space of the vehicle, as well as half of the rear seat, was filled to capacity.

His mormor had asked that he drive—if he wasn't too tired, that is—and Eric had agreed since he'd slept during the flight from Berlin to Gothenburg. The grandmothers were in the middle section of the vehicle, gossiping about Hollywood stars that they'd grown up lusting for. Sookie was next to Eric in the front seat, and Pam was sleeping in the back—apparently more hung-over than either of the older women she'd supposedly been "chaperoning" the night before.

Eric certainly didn't feel comfortable hearing about how his mormor had once met and had a little "dalliance"—just kissing and whatnot—with Christopher Plummer. He cringed and Sookie squeezed his hand a little harder.

He looked over at her, so beautiful in the yoga pants, T-shirt, and hoodie she'd worn in order to be comfortable on their overnight flight. Being a continent away from Appius, Eric already felt like the weight of the world was off of him—at least for two weeks. Of course, his assistant Chow was to contact him if there were any emergencies—or if Appius made any power plays—but, otherwise, Eric would have two blissful weeks with Sookie and his mormor, one of which would also include Pam and Adele.

"Cocktails have certainly changed since my day," Elsa commented. "Eric, did you know that drinks now have very colorful names?"

Eric cringed as he remembered his mormor's texts from the day before. "Yes—I'm aware," he responded cautiously.

"Indeed," Adele said, agreeing with Elsa, "young people have definitely come up with some very interesting names for drinks. I had heard of a Shirley Temple before. But I had never heard of a Bend Over Shirley until last night."

"Gran!" Sookie shrieked from the front seat.

"Nor had I, Adele," Elsa said casually. "However, I preferred the Penile Colarous—so much tastier than the piña coladas of our day!"

"Mormor!" Eric yelled.

The two grandmothers devolved into giggle fits.

"I told you we could rile them," Adele said gleefully.

Elsa giggled. "Yes. And they were quite easy to rile too," she added in her proper British accent.

Sookie exhaled loudly.

"We could not help that the young men at the club thought it would be entertaining to buy us a selection of vulgar sounding drinks," Mormor said with an mischievous grin.

"No—we could not," Adele concurred. "And the bonus was that we didn't have to pay for anything at all."

"Well—at least that hasn't changed since our day," Elsa said.

"Quite right," Adele observed. "A woman ought never to have to buy herself a drink when there are eligible gentlemen there to do it for her."

"I couldn't agree more!" Elsa exclaimed. "And even Pamela had free beverages last night—even though she is a lesbian most of the time."

"She is?" Adele asked. "But she was kissing that nice young man that bought us a round of the Dr. Peckers—I believe it was."

"Yes—those were quite good. And—yes—I believe that Pamela sometimes entertains young men too."

"Oh," Adele said, trying not to sound scandalized. "Well—I suppose that young people these days ought not to limit themselves. I'm sure she is just trying to be practical."

"Indeed," Elsa agreed.

"And Pamela was the one who suggested that we text you," Adele reported to Sookie and Eric.

"Now, Adele, that was your idea," Elsa corrected.

"No, I believe you had it first, Elsa," Adele returned. "But we decided to blame Pamela for everything—remember?"

As the two older women squabbled back and forth for a while—trying to determine whose idea it really had been—Eric and Sookie looked at each other and grinned.

Their shared glance spoke volumes. They had known that their grandmothers would get along, but only now were they becoming aware of the true havoc that the two might cause together—and the true closeness that they might share.

Finally, the two older women came to a consensus that it was, indeed, Pam's fault that they'd participated in "drunk texting," and since their scapegoat was passed out in the backseat, they faced no opposition to that.

"Yes—it was Pam now that I've thought it through," Elsa said.

"Yes—I'm sure you're right," Adele concurred.

"Well—Sookie and I spent most of last night worrying about you two," Eric indicated, trying to sound stern. Sookie stifled a giggle.

"Oh—you know I generally never order anything except my Gibson, dear," Elsa said sweetly.

"And I'm usually just a Mint Julep girl," Adele chimed in innocently. "But it was a lovely evening, and I did enjoy experimenting."

"Indeed," agreed Elsa seriously. "However, I did not much appreciate that one young gentleman calling me a GILF all evening."

Eric coughed and the car swerved a bit before he recovered.

"And he was not even polite enough to tell us what it meant," Adele added seriously.

"And Pamela just laughed," Elsa said with frustration. "We have got to remember to look that up on the Internet when we get home."

"Yes," Adele agreed. "I have it written down on my list.

Sookie and Eric looked at each other, biting back both their smiles and their horror.

"Do you know what 'GILF' means, Sookie?"

"No idea," she lied even as her face reddened.

"Do you know, Eric?" Elsa asked her grandson.

"Absolutely not," Eric said with a wink only Sookie could see.


	58. Carry It

Chapter 58: Carry It

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lidköping was more than two hours from Gothenburg Airport, so by the time they'd reached the city, it was just past dinner time, and everyone in the car—save Sookie and Eric—were dead to the world.

Sookie glanced over her shoulder, looking at the sight of their two grandmothers leaning their heads together in sleep. Both of them were snoring slightly, though no one had heard a peep out of Pam since they'd left Gothenburg.

"I'm glad they like each other," Sookie whispered.

Eric smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "It's like they're sisters; we'll have to watch out for them."

Sookie grinned and looked around. Since they were so far north, it wouldn't get dark for several hours.

"A cat?" she asked—seemingly out of the blue.

Eric immediately picked up on her train of thought. Since the end of June, they'd been talking about what she wanted for her birthday, which had occurred the week before—on July 1.

"A cat?"

"Yes—but can we even have one at your place? You aren't allergic—are you?"

"Our place," Eric corrected gently before responding to her questions. "I don't see why we couldn't have a cat at home. There are no building rules against pets. And Bobby's great-uncle Niall had cats, and I never sneezed around them. And I've been around Bobby's dog and had no problems."

"We could get a dog."

"No—a cat would be good. But do you know how to take care of one?" Eric asked.

"Well—I'm not sure. We should ask Gran. She's had cats before. We'll have to get a litter box and food and water dishes. And we'll have to train it not to scratch things."

"Okay—so I'll get you a cat," he smiled.

"It should be our cat."

Eric looked at her and grinned even wider. Her hair was blowing due to the cracked window, and she looked beautiful, her face showing her excitement about the prospect of getting a pet.

"Okay—our cat. Do you have a color preference?"

Sookie thought for a moment. "No."

"Boy or girl?"

"Either."

"Okay," Eric chuckled. "We'll get one when we get back."

"We should go to the humane society or something," Sookie said.

"Alright," Eric agreed.

"Wait—Amelia has a friend who runs a kind of cat rescue program. Can we get the kitten from her?"

"Yeah. Sure," Eric smiled squeezing her hand.

"I think that there might be a waiting time with her though."

"That's okay. We'll just research how to take care of a kitten in the meantime," Eric said.

Sookie nodded happily. "Thanks."

She smiled as she looked at the body of water out of the windshield. "That's Lake Vänern—right?"

"Yep," he said as he turned the car off the main road and onto a curvy, though paved, narrow road that took them into the woods. Soon, the dense trees prevented Sookie from seeing the lake; however, the beautiful and surprisingly dense forest more than made up for that.

"We're probably only fifteen minutes away from Mormor's house now," Eric commented.

"And the town we just passed through was Lidköping?" Sookie asked carefully, having been practicing her pronunciation of Swedish place names and common phrases with Eric for several days.

He smiled and nodded. "Yep."

Sookie looked backed at the other women in the car and then lowered her voice even more than it had been. "Will we get to share a room?"

Eric chuckled. "Absolutely." His eyebrows waggled as he glanced at her meaningfully. Neither of them had forgotten that their Sweden trip was to be the time when they'd decided that it would be safe to go without condoms.

"We'll have our own little house, actually," he said. "Morfar liked to design and build things in his spare time, and he built an amazing lake house—practically all by himself. Mormor lets me stay in it during the summers since I always helped Morfar with his projects when I was here during the summers. You'll like it, even though you'll have to try out Mormor's tub at least once."

Sookie giggled. From Pam, she'd heard all about Mormor's tub, its large window, and its view of the woods. She'd also heard that Elsa had no compunction whatsoever about nudity, so if she didn't want an eyeful, she would need to tread carefully if she walked around the house or went into the sauna.

"How long has your mormor lived on the lake?" Sookie asked, keeping her voice low so that she wouldn't disturb the sleeping women.

"Though they had a little cabin on the lake for much longer, Mormor and Morfar retired here about a year after he retired from work." He chuckled. "That's how long it took for Mormor to convince Morfar that he didn't need to micromanage the person who had stepped in to manage Larsson Publishing in Stockholm."

"I thought," Sookie stopped for a moment, hesitant about raising an unpleasant topic.

"Thought what?" Eric asked.

She took a deep breath. "I thought that Appius had control over Larsson Publishing after your morfar retired."

Eric tensed a little. "Yes—he had ultimate control over the major decisions for the company; however, he didn't oversee its day-to-day operations. That was done by the person Morfar left in charge in Stockholm."

Sookie nodded in understanding. From Eric's past descriptions, it seemed clear that Appius had done nothing to sabotage Larsson Publishing because he wanted it to be lucrative when he manipulated Eric into basically signing away his grandfather's company.

Eric's voice lowered even more, "Morfar wouldn't have left the company in Appius's hands at all if I would have just said something about the way he was treating me." He sighed. "But I was only eight when Morfar retired. I guess I didn't think Appius was doing anything different from other fathers at that time, and I figured that any complaints on my part would just make things worse. Appius had already impressed upon me that my trips to Sweden would be stopped if I talked to anyone about our meetings. And I really liked my summers here."

Sookie put her hand onto Eric's arm comfortingly as he went on. "Mormor actually has quite a bit of acreage surrounding a little finger of the lake, so even though Lake Vänern is really popular for recreation, especially in the summers, no one comes into her little cove. I used to get worried about Mormor being up here alone, especially in the winters, but she wouldn't think of leaving, and her friends from town come to visit her a lot. This place reminds her too much of Morfar for her to ever leave it," he added, glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure that the others in the car were still sleeping.

"You were fourteen when he died—right?" Sookie questioned, her voice catching a little.

Eric retook her hand and squeezed it a little. He knew that Sookie had been fourteen when her father had died. She smiled a little at his comforting gesture.

"Yeah," he answered, "but he was healthy almost up to the end. And he and Mormor really did enjoy their years living here. They met in Lidköping at the wedding of a mutual friend, so the place was extra meaningful to them. They always spent at least part of their summers here, even before they officially moved when I was nine or so. The main house was built by then. I remember thinking that it was so cool that the whole lower level of the house was built into the hillside." Eric chuckled. "When I was visiting, Morfar used to give me Batman comics to read—the little kids' versions."

"Do you still have them?" Sookie asked.

Eric nodded. "They're in a box in my room at Mormor's."

"So—you liked Batman—huh?" she smiled.

He chuckled. "Actually, until I was about eleven, I suspected that my morfar was Batman because of how the lower level of the house couldn't be seen from one side." He chuckled again. "And then I really thought he was Batman when he showed me his plans for the lake house. It's actually built over a cave, and there are steps down to a dock inside the cave."

Sookie grinned. "So—uh—why did he build a lake house when they already had the other house? It's right next to the lake too—right?"

Eric nodded. "Yep. I think he built it for both himself and me—actually," he said after a few moments of contemplation. "Morfar had always loved architecture; I think that's where I got my interest from. I remember him always sitting at the table for hours on end—drinking coffee and sketching. He designed his and mormor's house too. However, by the time he retired, it was already mostly finished, and he needed a new project." He chuckled. "I loved his sketches of the lake house, and—once he decided to build it—he and I explored every inch of the land here, trying to find the perfect spot. As soon as we found the cave, we knew that was it!"

"So you helped him to build it?"

Eric nodded. "Just during the summers. It took him several years since he did most of the work himself. Of course, winters get so harsh on the lake that not much could be done then, so Morfar would work on the lake house from April to October, and I was around for about half of that time. It was fun to help him, and he even let me design the deck around it." His face fell a little. "He died less than a year after it was all done, but I look back on those times when I was helping him as my favorite memories," he paused, "at least until you came into my life."

"Do you ever wish that you could just be an architect?" she asked with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.

"Sometimes," Eric replied honestly. "But—truthfully—if Appius weren't in the equation, I'd be really happy doing what I'm doing at NP."

Sookie nodded.

"I did like helping Morfar though," Eric said with fondness. "I know that is one of the reasons why I like architecture; he was always so excited by it all, and he made it fun. He actually was good friends with John Lautner, who was influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright. Morfar's grandmother even helped Lautner's mother when she came to Sweden to study Norse homes, and some of Lautner's architecture was based on those studies. I think that Morfar would have been an architect if he hadn't wanted to take over his father's company. After he retired from publishing, he threw himself into his first love—with his greatest love, my mormor, standing right beside him."

Eric glanced over at Sookie and smiled before looking back at the road. "I really think that working with him on that lake house may have saved my sanity. The work was cathartic for me at the time, and I think Morfar knew that." He paused and checked again to make sure that they were the only ones awake in the car. "The years when I was nine to thirteen were the hardest for me. I remember feeling depressed a lot, and Appius was particularly cruel during that time. I hadn't yet learned to," he paused, "compartmentalize in order to protect myself. And—of course—puberty was hitting with a vengeance," he added with a small smile. "So having my morfar as a father figure—even if it was just during summers—was a Godsend."

"But you didn't talk to him about Appius," Sookie commented sadly.

"I almost did," Eric responded. "I almost did a thousand times, but I didn't want to risk what I had. And Morfar wasn't the kind who encouraged talk either."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "My morfar was what one would call the strong, silent type. Other than his building plans, he didn't really talk in depth about much. Mormor was the talker in the family." He smiled. "They complemented each other in that way."

Sookie smiled as she glanced back at their sleeping grandmothers. "Yeah—I've already figured out that Elsa is a talker. She and Gran will have a lot of fun competing for the alpha of the conversation."

Eric chuckled. "I was thinking the same thing."

"I'm glad you had that time—with your morfar," she commented, squeezing his hand.

His eyes became reflective, as if he were looking at himself into the past. "I could really be at peace with myself when I was working on his projects with him—just building with my hands and not thinking about the bad things in my life. It was what I needed most at the time. I think that I would have confided in Morfar about Appius eventually—if . . . ," he added, his voice trailing off.

"If he hadn't died," Sookie finished sadly, wondering if she would have ever found the courage to confide to her own father if he'd not died.

"Yeah," Eric confirmed. "I had even started to plan how I'd tell him. I'd been rehearsing what I would say in my head. But Mormor called me the winter I turned fourteen to tell me he'd passed away." Eric seemed ready to say more, but stopped abruptly when Gran's light snores became uneven and louder, a telltale sign that she was waking up.

"Oh my word!" Adele exclaimed as her eyes popped open. She looked around sleepily, taking in the beauty of the woods.

"What!" Elsa asked, as she too was startled awake. "I mean," she recovered quickly, "what were you saying, Adele?"

"Oh," Adele said, "I was just sayin' how lovely it is here."

Eric and Sookie both chuckled as a decidedly inhuman-sounding moan was heard from the back seat, followed by Pam's aggravated voice. "Yes—the lake is nice. Yes—the woods are pretty. Now, can't you two just be quiet and let me sleep off my hangover!"

"Now, Pamela," Elsa scolded rather more loudly than she needed to, "you know better than to be rude. It is certainly not Adele's fault or my fault that you cannot hold your liquor."

"Or that you can't outdrink two old grannies," Adele said 'under her breath,' though everyone in the car could hear her very well.

Elsa and Adele shared a laugh.

"Oh—we're here already!" Elsa exclaimed as Eric turned onto the tiny, but well-kept driveway that led to the main house.

"Oh goody!" Adele said loudly, eliciting another primordial moan from Pam.

Both Stackhouse women craned their necks as glimpses of the beautiful blue water of the lake began to come into view through the trees.

"Oh—I must have missed seeing the town when we passed through," Adele said. "What's it called?"

"Lidköping," Elsa informed. "And don't worry. We can go into town tomorrow or the next day once you get bored with being around here."

"I'd love to see the town, but I can't imagine I'd get bored of this!" Adele exclaimed as she took in the beauty around her. "Remember—though I lived in New Orleans for almost twenty years with my Earl, I've always been a country girl at heart."

Eric parked in front of what looked to be a smallish-sized red house with white trim. Sookie immediately noticed—and appreciated—the deck wrapping around the house and the large windows that dominated the main room of the dwelling. But what really stole her breath was the gorgeous view of the lake in front of her.

"Wow!" Sookie exclaimed. "It's so beautiful here!"

Eric and Sookie got out of the car and subconsciously walked toward each other, even as their eyes remained fixed on the water. They stopped only once their hands were linked.

Meanwhile, Elsa and Adele each exited the vehicle like the dignified women they were, while Pam just barely managed to get out of the SUV without falling down. Though no piece of her blond hair was askew, her large sunglasses and paleness bespoke of her still-hung-over condition.

Elsa turned to Eric. "Could you be a dear, Eric, and take our bags to our rooms? It will be easier for you to go in through the garage. And—while you do that—I'll give Adele and Sookie the tour."

"Sure," Eric smiled before giving Sookie a quick peck on her cheek and then getting back into the car so that he could drive it down to the garage, which was part of the lower level of the dwelling.

Elsa motioned for Adele and Sookie to follow her to a white door that was so clean that it looked freshly painted.

"Now," Elsa said as she led them into the upper story of the house, "because of the way the hill is formed, this upper level isn't that big, but—then again—it was just Johan and me here most of the time, and we didn't need a lot of space."

Adele nodded and patted Elsa's arm. "I know just what you mean. I usually don't go into but four rooms of the farmhouse." She chuckled, "And I haven't been upstairs since I was gettin' Sookie's room set up when she came for Thanksgiving last year."

Elsa smiled as Adele and Sookie looked around the main room of her home; it included a living room and a dining area. A modest-sized kitchen was located off to the side.

"There's a small water closet—I mean bathroom—up here, so you don't have to go downstairs every time you need to freshen up," Elsa said, motioning toward a door.

Both Sookie and Adele nodded.

"The downstairs is quite a bit bigger, but this main room and especially the deck are where I spend most of my time," Elsa reported. "Eric built an extension onto the deck last summer," she added, pointing out the window.

"I can't say I blame you for spendin' your time where you can enjoy this view!" Adele exclaimed, looking out at the impressive sight.

Meanwhile, Sookie looked at the deck with curiosity. She could see that it extended around the back of the house and some of the wood looked newer than the rest. Several seating areas were set up outside as well. As Sookie studied the new section, Elsa offered her and Adele a drink, and when they declined, she ordered them to help themselves to anything in the kitchen—any time they wanted it. Then she led Adele and Sookie to a set of stairs. Pam was nowhere to be seen.

"When Johan designed this house," Elsa shared, "he worked around the geography of the area as much as possible; plus, since we are right on the water, the winters can get quite cold, despite the fact that we are surrounded by trees on three sides. So having the downstairs built partially into the hillside has made it much easier to keep the house warm. My Johan was very smart at figuring out such things!" she beamed proudly.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Sookie smiled at Elsa, who patted her arm warmly. "Eric is, of course, just like my Johan. Why—you should have seen how fast he put up the addition to the deck last year, and it fit in so beautifully with the rest!"

It was Sookie's turn to beam proudly.

"My, oh my!" Adele exclaimed as she gestured toward a hearth that seemed to be dug out of the rock itself.

"This is Johan's most marvelous invention," Elsa said. "The whole inner wall of this room is the rock of the mountain. Johan used to say that he let the rocks determine the shape of the whole house. In the winter, all I have to do is light a fire in this room, and the whole house is heated—at least enough to live in, though Johan also added central heat for me as well. However, the fireplace is usually enough; he built vents to all the other parts of the house—you see?"

"Wow!" Sookie exclaimed as she took in the unique room around her. It had no windows, and "den" seemed the most appropriate word to describe the space. There were quite a few overflowing bookshelves, including some carved into the rock. There were also two comfortable-looking couches and a television, along with an antique secretary desk sitting in the corner. From the main room, which was a semicircle in shape, three doors led in the direction of the lake.

Following Sookie's gaze, Elsa explained, "Johan built three bedrooms down here so that Pamela and Eric would each have one." She led the Stackhouse women toward the door on the left. "This is my room," she said, opening the door and showing them her nice-sized bedroom. There were large windows on two sides of the space, so Elsa had views of both the woods and the lake.

"You are more than welcome to use the bath my Johan built for me." She motioned toward a room to the left. The bathroom itself was rather usual-looking; however, the tub was something quite extraordinary. The tub itself was almost in its own little room, jutting out from the rest of the house. And—just as Pam had said there would be—there was a huge window facing the woods and the hills that rolled up from the lake shore.

"There are natural hot springs on this property," Elsa said, "and Johan found some virtually underneath where we're standing. My tub is fed by them, and the water makes your skin feel like silk. I swear it's kept me feeling ten years younger!"

"Then I will definitely be using this tub," Adele said with a grin. "But I'll have to make sure no one is walking around on this side of the house when I do! No one wants to get a glimpse of this old bag of bones!"

"Rubbish!" Elsa exclaimed. "I seem to remember several young men who were keen to see more of it last night."

Adele's cheeks pinkened cutely. "Well—my motto is now, 'touch all you want, but don't you dare look!'" she winked.

Elsa chuckled. "Well that one young man—what was his name?"

"Lucas," Adele responded immediately.

"Yes," Elsa said with a knowing grin. "Lucas certainly seemed to be touching quite a bit."

It was Sookie's turn to redden as the women continued talking about their club experience.

"Yes—Lucas was certainly handsy," Adele said somewhat wistfully, causing the two older women to giggle like schoolgirls.

Sookie tried to push the image of her grandmother being groped by a young Swedish man out of her mind by looking more closely at the bathtub. She smiled a little. A love for baths seemed to be a Larsson family trait, which had transferred to Eric and Pam. She looked out the window and took a moment to appreciate the lush trees before running her fingertips along the smooth tiles next to the tub. Indeed, she could certainly see herself using this tub; however, she didn't imagine herself using it alone.

Elsa and Adele's new round of giggles brought Sookie's attention back to the two older women—thankfully before her daydream could cause her to become too flushed. She followed them back out to the den as they joked about Lucas's wandering hands.

"This is Pam's room," Elsa said, gesturing toward the door on the right. "I believe she is indisposed right now," she added with a smirk, "but I am sure she would be willing to offer you a tour later."

Adele snickered a little and gave Elsa a knowing look.

"This room is Eric's," Elsa said to Adele as she opened the middle door. "However, he stays at the lake house when he visits now, so this will be your room." Elsa turned to look at Sookie. "Am I correct to assume that you will wish to stay at the lake house with Eric?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Mormor," Eric said with a little warning in his tone, as he came into the room from a narrow hallway behind the stairs; obviously it led in from the garage.

"I was only checking, dear," Elsa said. "As you know, things were different in my day."

Sookie was blushing deeply as Eric passed them, carrying Adele's two suitcases.

"Christopher Plummer," Eric muttered under his breath, though the still sharp ears of his mormor caught what he'd said.

"Merely a dalliance, dear," Elsa said pleasantly. "Your morfar was always the only man that truly owned my heart. Of course," she added in Adele's direction, "I had not yet met Johan when I spent time with Chris."

Chris," Adele sighed. "And he's held up so well too!"

"He has," Elsa agreed with a wink. "And I might even have his number somewhere around here."

"Mormor!" Eric said with exasperation.

Adele ignored Eric's interjection. "You still haven't told me everything about that encounter."

"Later," Elsa mouthed.

Eric rolled his eyes as he entered the door to his old room. Elsa led the Stackhouse women into the bedroom after him. Sookie looked around at the pretty blue and cream-colored space. A queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a chair were the only pieces of furniture, but there was a huge patio door providing a view of the lake, and—although the prospect wasn't quite as good as it was from upstairs—it was still a lovely scene. The door led to a private sitting area.

Elsa opened a door on the right-hand side of the room and showed Adele the bathroom.

"Pam will be sharing this room with you, and she has no sense of personal boundaries—I'm afraid. So be sure to lock the other side when you need a private moment," Elsa said daintily.

Adele nodded and looked around the bedroom. "Thank you. Everything is just lovely!" she exclaimed as Eric put her suitcases near the dresser.

Eric opened the closet. "There are a few of my things in here," he said, looking up at the highest shelf. "Do you think they'll get in your way?"

Adele walked over to stand next to him and noticed that there was only one small box on the top shelf. "Oh—I won't need up there! I couldn't even reach! But thank you anyway, dear," Adele said, smiling at him.

Seemingly on automatic pilot, Eric bent down to kiss Adele's cheek, just as he might his own mormor's. Then he grabbed the extra quilt from the upper closet shelf and laid it on the chair. He smiled down at the much shorter woman. "I used to like to sit out on the patio in the mornings, but it can be a little cool—even in the summers."

Adele patted his hand in thanks. "Thank you, Eric. I think I'll enjoy doing just that."

Eric smiled and looked at his own grandmother. "Mormor, I already brought in your and Pam's bags. She's passed out on her bed—by the way."

"Thank you, dear," Elsa said. She smiled pleasantly. "Pamela, I'm afraid, was done in by having too many Slippery Nipples."

"Oooh—those were yummy," Adele said immediately.

Both Eric and Sookie rolled their eyes and reddened noticeably.

Elsa chuckled at the two. "Come now—it is just the name of a cocktail."

Eric went to say something, but obviously thought the better of it.

"Why don't you take Sookie up to the lake house?" Elsa suggested. "It's getting late, and you two should get some sleep so that you don't have any jetlag. I put some food in the fridge for you up there so that you can make yourselves a little snack if you get hungry. And be sure to come for breakfast tomorrow."

Eric smiled. "Do you still eat breakfast at 7:00?"

Elsa nodded. "Of course."

"We'll be here," Sookie said, leaning forward to give Gran a hug. "It's so nice to see you. Having you here is kind of surreal." She got a faraway look in her eyes and then quickly wiped a tear from her eye.

"Excuse us for just a minute," Adele said, looking at her granddaughter with concern. "I have something in my suitcase for Sookie."

Having not noticed Sookie's tear, Elsa smiled. "Of course. I need to talk to Eric about some patching I need done on the boat deck anyway.

Unlike his mormor, Eric had noticed Sookie's tear. He gave her a questioning look, which she answered with a little nod and a smile to indicate that she was okay.

"What is it, dear?" Gran asked in a low tone once she and Sookie were back in Eric's old room.

Sookie sighed a little. "It's just that this is my first family vacation—my first vacation period. It's nice."

Adele smiled at her granddaughter, though she felt a pang of guilt—as she always did—for allowing Michelle to alienate her and Earl from their son. Because of that, she'd had very little contact with Jason and Sookie until Earl had died and she'd moved back to Bon Temps.

In truth, Adele placed a lot of blame upon herself for Sookie's situation. Oh—Adele knew exactly who was responsible for Sookie's pain: Michelle! And Adele hated her daughter-in-law with a fire that she figured would have sent her to hell—except for the fact that God likely hated Michelle just as much as she did. However, Adele knew that if she'd been in her granddaughter's life, she could have better protected her from her malignant mother.

"Gran?" Sookie asked with concern in her voice now. "Are you okay? You looked a little out of it there. Is it jetlag?"

Adele shook herself out of her guilt-ridden and angry thoughts. "I'm fine, dear. Now—why don't you go get settled in with that young man of yours?"

Something flashed across Sookie's face when Adele called Eric her young man, but the look disappeared as soon as Adele saw it, and the older woman chose not to mention it as Sookie turned to go.

"Oh—wait," Adele said. "I did bring you something." She reached into the front sleeve of her suitcase and pulled out a manila envelope.

"What's this?" Sookie asked.

"Well," Adele started, "you know how most of Earl and my pictures were destroyed in the fire we had in New Orleans."

Sookie nodded.

"I was cleaning out the attic at the farmhouse this spring, and I found some old family pictures I'd forgotten about completely." Adele smiled softly. "And I thought you might enjoy these."

Sookie held her breath as she opened the envelope. There were three pictures inside, and immediately Sookie felt her throat welling up with emotion.

"These are of me?" she asked in disbelief, looking at the pictures which showed her father holding a tiny infant in what looked to be a chair in a hospital room.

"Yes," Adele said tenderly. "Earl and I visited you in the hospital when you were born, and Earl took these.

Sookie could feel the heat of tears in her eyes as she quickly put herself into her grandmother's embrace.

"Thank you, Gran," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, child," Adele said, her own tears rising.

"Everything okay?" Eric asked as he entered the room tentatively.

Sookie nodded happily as she held out the photos for him to take. Immediately, Eric understood what he was looking at and its meaning to Sookie. The photos in his hand showed Sookie's father, smiling and proud as he held his newborn daughter. And—given the fact that Michelle had forced Sookie to burn all of the photos of her and her father—the images were even more precious.

Still half-smiling and half-crying, Sookie handed Eric the envelope as well. "Could you?" she asked.

He nodded and carefully put the pictures back into their protective carrier.

"Thank you, Gran," Sookie said again, giving her grandmother another hug. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, honey," Adele smiled, though there was a little sadness in her eyes. The pictures would have been such a small thing to most people, but she'd learned that Sookie treasured the small things the most.

Adele noticed as Eric pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. And—as if following a strong ocean current—Sookie drifted naturally to him as he handed her the small piece of cloth. As if he could do nothing else, Eric placed his arm around her, drawing her into him. Adele smiled up at him, and had one of the strongest feelings she'd ever had in her life; actually, it was more of a premonition. She pictured her granddaughter on her wedding day—smiling, beautiful, and dressed in a pretty white gown. And Eric Northman was standing right beside her, dressed to the nines and gazing at Sookie with the kind of love that Adele saw in his eyes even then.

Adele smiled as she imagined her great-grandchildren; her gut told her that those kids would be beautiful and well-loved.

"Gran? You okay?" Sookie asked, having seen her grandmother "space out" again.

The elderly woman chuckled. "I'm more than okay." She looked up at Eric. "You'll do quite nicely for my granddaughter, Eric. Quite nicely—indeed."

Eric's answering look was a combination of happiness and gloom that Adele couldn't quite decipher. However, her feeling told her that the two young people would overcome any gloom that tried to overtake them. Yes, she thought, Eric Northman would do very well for her precious Sookie—just as Sookie obviously suited him too.

She patted his arm as she moved to rejoin Elsa. Eric and Sookie shared a look before following her.

"Just take the rental car for now and bring it back tomorrow," Elsa said as the three emerged from Eric's old room. "The boat's docked here, so you can take it tomorrow morning. And we have my car if we have to seek medical attention for my granddaughter," Elsa added snarkily.

At Elsa's joke, the serious mood lifted from Adele, Eric, and Sookie.

"Now you see where Pam gets it," Eric whispered to Sookie, whom he was still holding close.

"Gets what, dear?" Elsa asked innocently, once again showing off the superiority of her hearing.

"Her shining personality," Eric grinned as he bent down to kiss his mormor on the cheek before leading Sookie out to the garage.


	59. I Didn't Do

Chapter 59: I Didn't Do

"I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done."—Lucille Ball

As soon as she heard the door to the garage close behind Eric and Sookie, Adele sighed as the weight of her guilt came crashing back onto her.

"What is it?" Elsa asked her friend with concern. "Did something happen when you and Sookie were talking in your room?"

"Wine," Adele said, instead of answering Elsa's question. "Do you have any? I'm afraid I couldn't drink anything stronger after last night, but a nice glass of wine sounds good right about now."

Elsa chuckled. "Of course I have some."

Adele sighed. "Then let's pop open a bottle, go out onto your wonderful deck, and enjoy that lake of yours."

"And then you'll tell me what's gotten your knickers in a twist?" Elsa asked.

Adele nodded and chuckled. "We say panties in a wad in the South."

Elsa laughed and patted Adele's arm. "You go freshen up if you need to, and be sure to grab that quilt Eric left for you. I'll get us that wine and some nice sandwiches to munch on."

Adele followed the instructions of her hostess, though she was finished freshening up in time to help Elsa put the sandwiches together. The two matriarchs settled outside on the deck and looked at the water. It was a while before either of them spoke.

"Those two kids are gonna get married one day; I just know it!" Adele said with certainty when she finally spoke.

Elsa chuckled. "You know—I think that you might just be right."

Adele smiled at her new friend. "And then you and I will be family."

"Grandmothers-in-law," Elsa said.

"And then great-grandmothers," Adele winked.

"Oh—babies! That will be nice," Elsa agreed.

"But I worry," Adele said, a frown wrinkling her brow.

"I know. There is something that those two haven't told us."

Adele sighed. "Yes. And they have both gone through enough already. It's just not right that they have to keep goin' through trials and tribulations."

Elsa sighed. "I would bet everything I have that Eric's father is behind the worries. That man makes me want to emulate Dexter!"

"Dexter?"

"Yes—that young man on the Showtime program."

"Oh?" Adele asked. "I'm afraid I don't have Showtime."

"Well—Dexter is a serial killer, but he 'takes out' only people who are even worse than himself."

"Oh dear! That sounds quite violent!"

"Indeed," Elsa said. "It is a crisis of my moral conscience to be on that young man's side. However, if he agreed to 'take out' Appius Northman for me, I believe that my conscience would remain perfectly clear." She sighed. "Oh course, I'm only kidding—I'm afraid."

Adele chuckled. "Of course you are, dear." She paused. "However, I will admit that I sometimes wish that I could find a way to get rid of Michelle—a way that I could hide from God, of course."

Elsa patted her friend's hand, and they were quiet for a few minutes.

"Tell me about your grandson—Sookie's brother, Jason," Elsa finally requested.

Adele sighed. "I'd like to think that Jason could be a good man, but Michelle has her hooks so deep into him that I'm afraid he's lost." She paused. "Recently, Michelle and Jason have been tryin' to ingratiate themselves to me. Jason has been comin' around the old farmhouse, even doin' a few chores. But I can't help but to notice that he seems to be almost inventorying everything in my home. I think they're just waitin' for me to keel over at this point."

"Oh Adele!" Elsa cried. "That's horrible!"

"Sounds like your grandson ought to have his balls put in a sling," Pam drawled from the doorway. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You've opened good wine!"

"But you've had a hangover all day," Elsa reminded.

"And wine is medicinal," Pam emphasized. She looked at the two women. "Now—don't say anything else until I get back with a glass." She chuckled. "And another bottle."

"She's a bit like you," Adele whispered of Pam as the younger woman went back inside.

Elsa chuckled. "She is. My daughter, Stella, was fun too, but sweet—much sweeter than I am!"

"Like Eric."

Elsa nodded. "Yes—like Eric could be if he had an easy life." She smiled. "Like he is when he's with Sookie. But . . . ."

"But?"

"My Stella was odd too. She loved two men—with almost equal devotion. Appius was the one she loved most, but she adored Peder too."

"And you don't understand how she could love two men?"

Elsa shook her head. "Perhaps, one day I will—if I ever meet a man who takes my breath away as Johan did. But—until then—I cannot understand that part of my daughter. And, of course, she loved them both at the same time."

Adele nodded. "I'm with you. I couldn't have fit another man into my heart. Earl's presence there was just too big." She smiled a little. "But now that he's been gone for a while, it's as if he's left a spot that I could fill again."

"With your, friend, Sid Matt?" Elsa grinned.

Adele giggled a little. "I will admit that Sid Matt Lancaster has been a happy addition to my life." She frowned a little. "However, he's been too genteel to make his move, and I'm not gettin' any younger."

"Red lipstick and a silk kimono," Pam said as she rejoined the two older women.

Adele looked at her in question.

"It's a sure-fire way to get anyone—whether it be a male or a female," Pam shared.

Adele chuckled. "I'll remember that."

Pam winked. "Trust me. Now—please tell me that you've hidden your most valuable items from your glass-licking grandson."

"Glass-licking?" Adele and Elsa asked in unison.

"It has several connotations," Pam responded with authority. "I learned the term recently—from my sister, Gracie. It can connote someone who spies so closely that he or she could lick the glass of your windows. Or it could connote someone deficit of the adequate brain cells to function on his or her own."

Adele chuckled. "Well—both of those sum up Jason to a 'T.'"

"Hey!" Elsa said, looking at Pam. "You never did explain what GILF meant."

Pam smirked. "It's an offshoot of MILF."

"Which is?" Adele asked.

"Mom I'd like to fuck," Pam said matter-of-factly. "It is most often spoken by young men who wish to have carnal relations with women who are old enough to be their mothers—or just mothers in general."

"My word!" Elsa exclaimed. "That would make Adele and me," she paused.

"Grandmothers that those young men would like to," Adele continued.

"Fuck," Pam finished.

"Language!" chastised Elsa.

Pam rolled her eyes. "You are the one who asked for an explanation," she said before taking a sip of her wine. "So," she said, looking back at Adele, "you have hidden the things you don't want stolen—right?"

Adele sighed. "Yes. Most of my truly valuable things are now in a safety deposit box that only Sid Matt has a key to."

"And this is the man you like?" Pam asked.

Adele nodded. "And he's my lawyer."

"Good," Pam smirked. "If you've enthralled him, then he'll be trustworthy enough—even if he has a law degree."

Adele sighed.

"What?" Elsa asked.

"It's Michelle. I'm just suspicious of her," Adele responded.

"That's Sookie's bitch of a mother—correct?" Pam asked with a sneer.

"Indeed," Elsa responded, though she gave her granddaughter the "stink-eye" because of her cursing.

Adele nodded. "Michelle's been trying to engage me in conversation at church lately. But I'm no idiot! I know that any overtures of kindness offered by Michelle are based on her desire to get ahold of my money—not that there's much left anymore. However, there's plenty of property, including the house that that she-witch lives in."

"You own the house she lives in?" Pam asked, a wicked smile forming on her lips. "Do I sense that an eviction in her future?"

"I wish," Adele said bitterly. "But I'm afraid that I can't kick her out."

Pam looked at her with confusion. "Why not?" she asked a little harshly.

"Now, Pamela," Elsa scolded, "I'm sure Adele has a good reason." She turned to her friend. "Why ever not?" she asked, though much less severely than her granddaughter.

Adele took a quick drink of her wine. "That house was actually the biggest point of contention between Michelle and Corbett; thus, it became an issue of conflict between Corbett, Earl, and me too," she said with regret.

"Corbett was your son's name? Sookie's father?" Elsa asked to clarify.

"Yes," Adele responded. "Earl and I did pretty well for ourselves; he was a geologist—you know. He worked for the oil business in the Gulf, and I was a substitute school teacher for almost twenty-five years. We tried to help out our children financially when they needed it. Of course," she paused, "we weren't made of money, but we had enough to send our daughter, Linda, to college, and when she asked us for a loan to help her afford the down payment on her home, we gave it to her."

Adele sighed deeply. "She paid back every penny of that loan—as soon as she could—despite the fact that she and her husband divorced and she was left to raise my granddaughter, Hadley, pretty much on her own."

Elsa patted Adele's arm while Pam poured her more wine.

Adele went on. "Corbett and Michelle got engaged right around the time that Earl was transferred to New Orleans. Corbett had always talked about goin' to college and gettin' a degree in agriculture. I think he wanted to restore the old farm to its former glory. But, the more serious he got about Michelle, the more his dreams shifted to fit hers. She didn't wanna be a farmer's life, and when Earl and I offered to let them live in the farmhouse, Michelle refused." Adele sighed. "The semester before they got married, Corbett cut back his classes to just night school and got a job at a roofing company. He made a pretty decent wage, and he liked bein' outdoors a lot, but he and Michelle were very young and just starting out, and Corbett was worried about not bein' able to meet their financial obligations if he took on a mortgage. But Michelle kept naggin' him for a house."

"So you and your husband helped them," Elsa guessed.

Adele nodded. "Yep. We agreed to help them get their feet on the ground. We invited them down to New Orleans for a long weekend to work out the details of the agreement. Earl and I used pretty much all of the money we'd been savin' for our retirement years in order to buy them a home. We agreed to give Michelle and Corbett two years to live in the house for free—so that they could save some money. After that, we worked out a repayment plan for them. At first, they'd give us $500 a month. Then, gradually, as they became more established, they'd give us a little more." She sighed. "Earl and I never thought we'd actually get back all the money we were spending on the house, but we planned to put everything they did give us right back into our retirement savings." She smiled wistfully. "We had hoped to travel extensively after Earl's retirement."

"Lemme guess," Pam said acerbically, "they never paid you back."

"No," Adele said tiredly. "Not a penny. After two years, Earl spoke with Corbett and Michelle about beginning to repay us; however, Michelle begged for more time because they'd just found out that Jason was on the way. After that, it was Sookie who was her excuse. And—not long after she was born—Michelle convinced Corbett that Earl and I were being selfish because we wouldn't just give them the house outright. She painted a false picture of Earl and me living it up in New Orleans, while they struggled to make ends meet with two young children. Eventually, Corbett bought into her lies—and her bitterness." She paused. "My Earl was stubborn and wanted Corbett to meet his obligations. You see—Corbett and Earl had shaken hands on the matter."

Elsa sighed. "And, in our day, a handshake meant more than any signed contract could."

"Yes," Adele said, "that's what my Earl always believed. He figured that a man wasn't a man if he didn't honor a handshake—especially with someone who shared his blood."

"So it caused a rift between your husband and your son," Elsa said sympathetically.

Adele nodded. "Yes, and—because of that rift—Corbett and Michelle wouldn't have any contact with Earl and me." She sighed, "So, of course, we didn't have contact with the kids either. In fact, I didn't see the kids for fourteen years; though I tried to reconcile with Corbett enough to arrange for visits. But my letters were always returned unopened, and Michelle would hang up on me when I called." She shook her head sadly. "Michelle didn't even call Earl and me when," she paused again and sniffled, "our son died. And she had his funeral arranged and him buried only two days after his death. It was an old friend of mine in Bon Temps who told me that my child had died; she called Earl and me wondering why we hadn't been at the funeral."

"Oh dear," Elsa said, taking hold of Adele's hand. "That's ghastly!"

Adele let out a little sob and pulled out her handkerchief. "The fact that Earl hadn't reconciled with our son before his death ate at my husband, and I watched him get old overnight." She closed her eyes as tears began to fall down her cheeks in earnest. "He was dead less than two years after that."

The three women were silent for a few minutes as Adele composed herself.

"Neither Earl nor myself had the heart to turn our grandkids out of their home, so we let Michelle continue livin' in the house we bought—even after Corbett died." She sighed. "Earl and I agreed to wait until Sookie was eighteen, and then we were gonna use the law—if need be—to get Michelle out of the house. And we were gonna try to be in the kids' lives too. Michelle couldn't have stopped us once they were eighteen. But Earl died too soon to see that happen," she added with regret.

Adele took a breath and then went on. "Since Michelle and Corbett never repaid any of the loan for their house, I had to sell Earl and my New Orleans home and move back to the old Stackhouse farm in Bon Temps after my Earl died; otherwise, I wouldn't have had enough money to live on for long. Earl's company had a retirement fund, but we drew money out of that when we bought Corbett's house." She took another breath. "Earl managed to save quite a bit for us in the years after he bought Corbett's house, and I worked in the school system long enough to earn a little pension; however, after Earl died, I had to become practical. I added the money from the sale of the New Orleans house into the retirement fund, and I've dipped into it only when I've had to."

"Of course you have to be practical," Elsa concurred. "We all do when something unexpected happens," she spoke from experience.

Adele smiled a little. "Truth be told, I would have likely moved back to Bon Temps anyway. Earl loved New Orleans, and I liked it too, but I love the old farmhouse even more. I have a lot of nice memories there too. The old front porch is where Earl stole his first kiss from me—even though his mama was right inside." She chuckled. "That porch was also where I told him that he was gonna be a father."

Pam sniffled, and the two older ladies looked at the suddenly emotional younger woman.

"What?" Pam asked, pretending that nothing was amiss. She rolled her eyes. "Hallmark moments always make me emotional!" she said to Adele with accusation in her tone.

Adele and Elsa chuckled.

Pam quickly squelched her "softer" emotions. "Well—why didn't you ever toss Michelle out on her ass?" she asked. "Sookie's clearly over eighteen now."

Adele sighed. "When I moved back to Bon Temps, I decided to try to establish relationships with Sookie and Jason right away. The way I saw it—I'd already wasted too much of my life letting Michelle dictate my interactions with those kids! And Earl's and Corbett's deaths had taught me just how short life is!"

"Way too short," agreed Elsa.

Adele nodded and squeezed her friend's hand. "By chance, I happened upon Sookie in the supermarket the very day I returned to Bon Temps! I thought I recognized her right away, but since I hadn't seen her in fourteen years, I couldn't be a hundred percent sure that the skinny, pale girl I was seein' was my granddaughter." She smiled sadly. "And—even if she was, I didn't just wanna run up to her and introduce myself."

Elsa nodded in agreement. "That would have been awkward—for both of you."

Adele nodded. "I discreetly asked one of the grocery store attendants if the girl was Sookie Stackhouse, and the worker, who looked to be just a little older than Sookie, confirmed that it was—indeed—my granddaughter. But it was the way that the worker told me that disturbed me."

"What do you mean?" Pam asked, even as she nibbled on a sandwich.

"Manners, dear," Elsa scolded before turning back to Adele with curiosity in her eyes.

"Well," Adele picked up, "the worker called my granddaughter, "C.D. Sookie," as if that were her given name."

"C.D. Sookie?" Elsa asked.

"I was confused too, so I asked what 'C.D. Sookie' meant," Adele informed. "It was short for 'crazy, deaf Sookie."

Pam frowned. She had learned of Sookie's deafness during her second private conversation with her new friend. Pam was now ashamed that she'd turned her head when women in her own department had used bullying names for Sookie. It seemed that no matter where Sookie went, she had to suffer verbal abuse from bullies. Determined to make better choices in the future, Pam shook her head with regret. She sighed. At least she'd already started making better choices when it came to the biggest bully she could fathom: her own father.

Adele had carried on with her story. "That was how I learned that my granddaughter was deaf—from the name-calling of a teenager," she said angrily. "But—to my intense shame—I still didn't approach Sookie. I didn't know how," she added helplessly.

Elsa scooted her chair over so that she could put her arm around her friend to comfort her even more.

Adele gave Elsa a grateful look and continued. "I didn't know if she used sign language, and—even if she did—I didn't know any. And handing the girl a note that announced that I was her grandmother hadn't seemed to be the right move either."

"Of course not," Elsa assured.

"So I simply followed Sookie through the store as inconspicuously as I could; I couldn't help myself. But I didn't want to scare or upset her, so my plan was to go to Michelle's house that very evening and discuss my granddaughter with her. However, as I followed Sookie, I couldn't help but to be disturbed by the look that stayed on her face as she systematically collected the items on her list. She showed no emotion, and she watched everyone around her as if she was afraid that they were gonna hurt her. She looked so scared and so lost that it broke my heart!"

Adele paused and wiped away a tear. "Plus, I heard a lot of gossip as I moved around the supermarket that day, and it was all targeted at Sookie. Many people—like the store worker—insinuated that she was mentally challenged or crazy. Others just shook their heads and said 'bless her heart' a lot. And none of them treated Sookie as if she were a 'wanted' member of the town."

She wiped away another tear. "I went through the check-out line right after Sookie, and once I got outside, I saw her placing all her bags into a rickety-looking wagon. Several high school aged kids seemed to be taunting her as she did so, but Sookie was ignoring them. However, while she returned her cart to the rack, one of the boys grabbed an orange juice carton from the wagon and opened it." Adele scoffed. "He was laughing heartlessly between gulps!" Her voice grew suddenly tired. "Well—Sookie looked back toward the store and then at the wagon and then at the kids. Her face was stony, but I could see fear in her eyes even from across the parking lot. But I could also practically hear the wheels turning in her head. Clearly, she needed to replace the item, but she couldn't leave the wagon where it was without the kids doing more damage."

Adele took a swig of her wine. "Well—I had seen enough, and I approached the bullies, telling them to get out of the area or I'd call the cops! Sookie hardly looked at me. She just kept on looking toward the store and then at her list nervously. Not yet knowing that she could read lips, I gestured that I would watch her things while she went into the store to get more juice. She nodded to me politely, but declined the offer, saying—in perfect, if somewhat stilted, English—that she didn't have enough money to get the juice. At that point, I took a chance that she would be able to understand me, and I asked her to wait where she was for a minute. I went inside the store and quickly returned with the brand of juice that Sookie had bought." She paused. "Her face lit up with relief; however, when I offered to give her a ride home, she looked frightened and declined. I followed her in my car as she walked the mile and a half to her house, pulling the wobbly wagon over the rural roads."

"And when you confronted Michelle?" Elsa asked. "What happened then?"

Adele sighed. "It didn't take me long to realize that Michelle was a shitty mother to Sookie, and she barred me from seeing the child. Jason was eighteen then, but he refused to see me too." She took another drink. "Sookie had no idea who I was or what was going on, but I had the strongest feeling that I needed to get her out of that house—as soon as possible."

Elsa nodded.

Adele sighed. "So—I asked Michelle for her price. By the end of the week, she had come to me with her demands." She scoffed. "I could buy my granddaughter, but it would cost me the ownership of the house Michelle was living in and twenty thousand dollars."

"Bitch," Pam snarled.

Elsa didn't chastise her granddaughter for her language this time.

Adele shook her head sadly. "With Michelle, I knew better than to give her exactly what she wanted. That would have only encouraged her to ask for more. However, I did give her just enough to get Sookie."

"What was that?" Elsa asked.

"I had Sid Matt draw up a contract—in writing this time!" Adele declared. "In exchange for Sookie's custody until she was eighteen, I agreed not to 'evict' Michelle during my lifetime, and I also promised to leave the house to Jason in my Will. And I gave Michelle ten thousand dollars, which was the money I'd been putting aside to do some repairs on the old farmhouse. But it was money well spent to get Sookie away from that she-devil! You should have seen how cowed down Sookie was with her—and how callous Michelle was when she dropped off Sookie and her meager belongings at my house!"

"What a bitch!" Elsa cried.

Pam arched an eyebrow in her grandmother's direction.

"Well," Elsa defended, "what would you have me call someone like that?"

Pam grinned. "I can think of a few other terms."

"So can I," Adele muttered. She sighed. "So now you see why I'm so suspicious of any seeming kindness from either Jason or Michelle. They want something from me, and I'm afraid that their actions will hurt Sookie."

All three women nodded and sighed.

"More wine!" Pam exclaimed pouring them all another glass.

"Yes—and something fun to take our minds off of miscreants!" Elsa added.

Adele grinned. "Do you know how to play Shit on Your Neighbor?"

Elsa returned her grin. "Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't," Pam said.

Adele and Elsa's smiles turned predatory.

"Then we'll play for cash!" Elsa declared.


	60. I Am Unafraid

Chapter 60: I Am Unafraid

Through the hourglass I saw you

In time you slipped away

When the mirror crashed I called you

And turned to hear you say

If only for today

I am unafraid

—Lyrics from "Take My Breath Away" (performed by Berlin; written by Giorgio Moroder and Tom Whitlock)

"You okay?" Eric asked, once he and Sookie were in the car and headed for the lake house.

"Yeah," she responded. "I was just thinking about how this is my first real vacation. I've gone to spend Thanksgiving with Gran a few times, but Bon Temps isn't somewhere I," she paused, "like to visit, though I do love Gran and the farmhouse."

He squeezed her hand. "I hope you'll like your visit here."

"I already have," she assured, squeezing his hand in return.

Eric maneuvered the SUV back onto the main road.

"So—how far is the lake house from here?" she asked.

"It'll take us at least fifteen minutes to wind our way around to it," he responded.

"Okay," she smiled, stretching out in her seat. "Tell me a little more about this land; it's so beautiful!"

He smiled in return. "Well—as I told you last week, Mormor has quite a bit of acreage around the lake, though the lake itself is public property. However, the little channel that leads from the main lake into Mormor's cove is narrow and very rocky, so it's almost impossible to get a boat through—unless it's a very small boat, and you know exactly where to go. And only a handful of people know that. Luckily the cove is plenty big enough to enjoy in and of itself, so it's almost as if we have our own private part of the lake! Morfar bought all of the land from the opening on one side of the cove to the opening on the other side, so Mormor—quite literally—owns every square inch of land around the cove. The outer perimeter of the land is actually perfectly square, and the lake juts into that square like a thick finger."

"Oh," Sookie said, closing her eyes for a moment so that she could better visualize the property. "So where will we be in relationship to your mormor's house—across the cove from her?"

Eric shook his head. "Nope. If you think of the area around the lake as if it were a 'U' shape, Mormor's house is on the top, northeast side of the 'U'; it's about a quarter of a mile from the main lake." He turned the car off onto a narrow, rocky lane that could hardly qualify as a road. "The lake house is at the bottom of the 'U,' on the southwest side of it. There's a small off-shoot of the lake down there, so it's almost like a cove within a cove."

"So how much property does your mormor own altogether here? It must be a lot."

Eric shrugged. "If you include the water, it's about 3,000 acres altogether. In actual land, it's probably closer to fifteen hundred acres. And, of course, quite a bit of the land is on the shoreline."

"Wow—that's a lot!"

Eric nodded. "Can you imagine owning that much land in Manhattan?"

"Is there that much?" Sookie asked with a chuckle.

Eric grinned. "Well, this property is about 3 miles wide, which is wider than Manhattan, but the city is much longer."

Sookie nodded as Eric drove cautiously over a coarsely constructed low-water bridge.

"I remember when Morfar and I could only get back here with ATVs," Eric recalled. "I imagine that's how it still has to be done once the snows come. However, Mormor hates this road and only comes to the lake house by boat." He winked. "I'm sure she only encouraged me to drive tonight since she has the rental; there's no way she would have let me bring her Fiat out here."

Sookie giggled.

After a few minutes of silence, Eric sighed. "It's sad really. I don't think Mormor stays out here much since she and Morfar didn't really get to enjoy it together before he died."

Sookie squeezed his thigh since he was now using both hands to guide the vehicle over a particularly rough section of the road.

"It's a shame that it stays empty so much," she observed.

"Every once in a while, Mormor rents it out for extra income," Eric commented, "but never when I'm visiting."

Sookie smiled. "Because she knows you'll want to stay in it."

"Yeah. She's kind of amazing like that; I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have Mormor and Morfar to come to during the summers." He sighed. "I really did think about telling them about Appius—so many times—but for some reason, I just never did."

She nodded in understanding. "Even when I went to live with Gran, I didn't tell her about Michelle. I still haven't told her much."

He glanced over at her and smiled softly. "The important thing is that we can talk to each other now."

Sookie nodded and then held her breath a little as the road suddenly brought them out of the woods. In a clearing in front of her was one of the most unique—and beautiful—dwellings that she'd ever seen.

"Wow!" she gasped.

"It's pretty cool—huh?" Eric smiled as he parked the car next to the small house and got out.

In that moment, Sookie was very happy that they were so far north. There was still plenty of light from the sun despite its being almost 9:00 p.m., so she was able to truly appreciate the beauty of the building.

"Just wow!" she exclaimed as Eric opened her door and offered her his hand. "This place is amazing!"

The lake house itself was quite small, and the windows, which took up most of three sides of the building, showed her that it was sparsely decorated. The dwelling was square shaped, but the roof was something to behold, angling up in two dramatic-looking shapes.

"It looks like something from a James Bond movie!" she grinned.

Eric chuckled. "It does—doesn't it? And just wait until you see the cave underneath," he said dramatically, before tickling her side.

She laughed and slapped his hand away. "Hey—is there a bathroom?" she asked, only slightly afraid that he'd answer that it was a hole in the cave.

He nodded and then led her toward the entrance of the structure, which was a glass door around the side. He unlocked it, and they stepped inside the place that was to be their home for the better part of two weeks. The main room was a bedroom, and the bed and a small table next to it were the only pieces of furniture. At the back of the main room was a door, which led to a narrow room that ran along the entire rear of the structure; the room was about twenty feet long and about five feet wide. In that narrow space was something of a mishmash of items. There was a small refrigerator and stove at one end, a sink and small counter in the middle, a closet with some build-in drawers next to that, and a toilet and large shower at the other end.

"This is something else!" Sookie remarked.

Eric bent down and kissed her forehead. "I'll go get the bags while you freshen up?"

She nodded. "Thanks."

After closing the door behind him, Sookie quickly used the toilet before washing her hands and splashing some water on her face. Though it wasn't that late, and New York time was several hours behind them, she was exhausted since she'd not slept at all during their overnight flight from New York to Berlin.

Returning to the main room, Sookie noticed that the bags were next to the door, and Eric was looking out the front window—his back to her.

"I love it here," he said quietly as he gazed out onto the water. The sun was beginning its descent into the hills, and the scattered clouds in the sky ranged from red to pinkish gray.

"It's beautiful," Sookie said, snaking her arms around him and resting her cheek on his broad back.

"This place has been my refuge for a long time," he whispered. "And now I can share it with you." He turned around slowly to face her. "I want to share everything good with you, Sookie Stackhouse."

Immediately, she felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. "You already do, Eric."

He bent down to give her a lingering, though closed-mouth kiss. It was the kind of kiss that pledged love rather than demanded lust. It was the kind of kiss that made Sookie think that anything could be possible.

She smiled up at him, but then yawned widely.

He chuckled. "Am I boring you?"

"Yes," she giggled, a blush rising to her cheeks. "It's easy to get bored in the most beautiful place I've ever seen with the most beautiful man I've ever known," she joked.

He sighed dramatically and then crinkled his nose. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Gorgeous?" she tried.

"Better," he said, bending down to kiss her again. "Plus, you are the beautiful one here."

She blushed even redder, but didn't argue with him. He'd been doing his best to make sure she was used to his compliments.

"Should we unpack?" she asked, suddenly nervous when he glanced at the bed and got a hungry look in his eyes. She knew that look wasn't about food. She was getting rather 'hungry' herself, and suddenly she felt much less tired.

"Yeah," he said, rather huskily. "But—first—let me show you around a bit."

Sookie arched an eyebrow at him in question as she looked around the sparse, though beautiful room.

He chuckled and led her back out the door and onto the deck, which wrapped around the lake house—though in somewhat irregular shapes, especially along the backside of the structure. Some portions of the deck were covered, and one such part had a small table with two chairs set at it. There was no other furniture on the deck, but Eric pointed to a small outbuilding.

"There are some mats in there that can be brought out if you want to sunbathe. They also float." He pointed down to the lake, which was below them since the house had been built on the hillside. "And then there's that."

Sookie looked toward where Eric was pointing. About twenty feet from the shore was a small, floating deck of sorts, and on it were two wooden lounge chairs, facing away from each other.

"Wow—I've never seen anything like that!" she exclaimed looking at the floating lounge. She smiled to herself knowing that she'd now have no trouble swimming to it. Eric and she had continued her swimming lessons about four times a week, and she was already able to swim laps in the pool, though she couldn't do it for nearly as long as Eric—and he swam about four strokes to her one. Still—she was proud of her progress. She was no longer afraid to hold her breath under water, and she'd learned how to swim the backstroke, the breaststroke, and the freestyle stroke so far. She'd tried the butterfly stroke once, but doing it had caused her to sink like a ton of bricks.

In actuality, however, the butterfly was her favorite swimming style—at least when she was watching Eric completing his laps. When he did that stroke, his body moved up and down through the water with ease and grace. And to Sookie, watching his supple muscles propel him above and below the surface was like the best kind of foreplay in the world. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

"Do you like it?" Eric asked.

"Huh?" she returned—stirred out of her lustful thoughts by the cause of them himself.

"I designed and built it," he added with some trepidation, gesturing again toward the floating lounge.

"Really?" Sookie asked, looking once more at the piece. "It's incredible!"

He smiled. "After Morfar died, I would spend most of my summers tinkering around in his workshop, which is near the main house. I worked on that piece for two summers before I got it right." He chuckled. "Mormor always made sure that lots of wood was waiting for me, and she was never shy about giving me a specific job—if she needed something repaired."

"Wait!" Sookie said in sudden realization. "Did you make the chair on the deck in New York too? The double-sided lounge chair?"

Eric nodded—his pride obvious. "I designed it, but I didn't build it. I hired a furniture builder to do it. Do you like it?"

"It's gorgeous. So is this," she motioned toward the floating lounge.

He smiled even wider. "Usually, it's kept docked underneath the house, but Mormor had it brought out for Pam, who stayed here part of last week. Every other summer, I take the time to refinish it so that the wood doesn't crack."

"I love it," Sookie whispered, leaning against him. "I love you."

Kissing her gently on the lips was the only answer Eric could give her, but she didn't complain one bit. After lingering against each other for a while, Eric broke their embrace and took her hand, leading her down some steps. Sookie shivered a little, despite the fact that she was still wearing her hoodie.

"Cold?" Eric asked.

She nodded. "Just a little—from the breeze. But it's okay—nothing compared to New York in the winter."

He chuckled. "We'll head back inside soon. I just wanted you to see how to get down to the water."

At the bottom of the steps, Sookie smiled as she saw that there was, indeed, a cave under the lake house. The gentle waves of the large lake lapped in and out of the cave, making a lulling noise.

Shivering again, Sookie sighed contentedly as Eric wrapped her up into his warm embrace. Suddenly, as his hands stroked her sides, she felt no cold; there was only heat, flowing from him and into her. She tightened her hold around his waist, pulling herself into his body even more.

"Sookie," he murmured as he began to kiss her, starting at her forehead and then moving to her earlobe and then her cheek and then her chin before finding her lips and leaving her breathless.

Once they were both panting for air, Eric pulled away. Even in the limited light, his eyes bore into hers, telling her exactly what he desired.

"I want you," Eric said in a husky voice. "But if you're too tired . . . ."

Sookie didn't let him finish his sentence as her hands moved to his shoulders so that she could pull him down and capture his lips once more.

"I'm not too tired," she gasped when they came up for air again.

Eric smiled. "Good." He took her hand and led her back up the steps.

"Um—won't people be able to see us?" she asked as she once again took in all the windows.

"If anyone were around, they could, but not from the water, and we'll hear if a vehicle approaches," he assured her. "In all my summers here, no one uninvited has come into the main cove of the property, let alone this little one."

Comforted that they were, indeed, in their own private little world, Sookie followed Eric into the house, where he dimmed the lights, using a switch on the wall.

"I didn't see an electric pole," Sookie observed.

"The raised side of the roof actually has several solar panels. The electricity and hot water heater run on that."

"Cool," Sookie said, though she was hardly listening any more since Eric was taking off the fleece pullover he had on. "Anxious?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

"You have no idea, min älskare," Eric rumbled before his lips crashed into hers again.

She answered the demands of the various parts of his body with equal fervor of her own. As his lips pressed against hers, she pressed back and pulled herself closer to him by wrapping her arms around his neck and rising onto her tiptoes. When his tongue swept against hers, she savored his taste with similar swipes. As his large hands moved over her body, trying to feel everything they could reach, her much smaller ones made similar explorations.

"Sookie," he growled as his kiss moved along her chin and then to the spot behind her ear that always elicited goose bumps on her arms and neck.

"Eric," she whimpered, moving her hands down his back and then underneath his T-shirt until she was finally grasping his warm flesh with her cool hands.

She grunted in frustration, but understand the meaning of her primal noise perfectly well, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head. He had her hoodie, long-sleeved T-shirt, and bra off moments later. He kissed down to one of her breasts and took her nipple into his mouth.

"Eric," she grunted for a different reason.

Feeling the need to kiss her lips again, Eric kissed back up to them—after making a short pit stop at her other breast so that it wouldn't feel neglected. Their bare chests pressing against each other, he walked them the short distance to the bed.

"Så vacker," Eric said in the language of the country they were in. "So beautiful," he translated for her as he laid her down onto the bed.

Sookie watched transfixed as he stood upright and took off the rest of his clothing with as much speed as possible. They both laughed as he stumbled while trying to take off his jeans and boots at the same time. Finally triumphant, he pushed his boxer-briefs over his hips and then stepped out of them.

"Så vacker," she repeated as she looked up at him with lust-filled eyes.

He smiled down as her even as he took her left foot into his hand and slipped off her tennis shoe. He repeated that action with her right foot and then removed her socks—one at a time and much more slowly than she would have liked.

"Eric," she whispered almost desperately.

He shook his head, even though his darkened eyes betrayed his own impatience to be inside of her. Well—his eyes and the enormous erection swaying against his belly. That was also a clue—a big one!

Sookie's eyes were drawn to his as he leaned forward and tugged on the elastic band of her yoga pants. He methodically pulled the garment over her hips, making sure to leave on her panties—which were becoming more and more useless by the second. As soon as her pants were off, he began slowly kissing his way up her body: first her foot, then her ankle, then her calf, then behind her knee, then her outer thigh.

"Eric," she said insistently as she grabbed his shoulders and tried to move him to where she wanted him most. He was having none of it.

"Ha tålamod, älskare. Låt mig dyrka dig." ["Have patience, lover. Let me worship you."]

This time he didn't translate, but when he moved to her other foot and repeated his slow, methodical pattern of kisses, she got the idea. All she could do was lie back and let him do as he wished with her. They'd taken their time with each other quite a bit in the weeks since they'd become sexually active, and she recognized the look in his eyes. She knew that he was storing this experience in his memory, storing it for the inevitable time when such experiences would no longer be possible. She held in her tears at that thought and let him continue without more protests from her. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on his, determined to do some memorizing of her own.

His lips finally found her center—after nipping playfully at her inner thighs. He took his time tasting, licking, nibbling, and kissing her lower lips before teasing her clit with his lips and tongue. After a few minutes, his fingers got busy too, first rubbing and then thrusting and then curling into her.

"Faster—please," she begged, her head now lulling from side to side in ecstasy, as her orgasm approached like a freight train.

He obeyed and moaned into her clit, the vibration sending her over the edge. As her body shook, he slowed his movements down—trying to extend her pleasure with both his fingers and his tongue.

Sookie shivered in pleasure as he removed his fingers and moved his kisses up her body, lingering for a few minutes on each of her breasts. "Beautiful. Vacker," he sighed as he made his way to her lips, capturing them with his.

Eric felt the tip of his cock throbbing against Sookie's clit, and when she arched into him, his already shaky control was threatened. In truth, he felt like he was ready to orgasm without even entering her. The thought of being inside of her without a little piece of rubber between them was almost too much for him.

"Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet," he repeated to himself.

"Dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies," he tried, remembering a strategy Bobby had told him about once.

When that didn't work, he tried to think of something disgusting—anything—that would help him to enter Sookie without immediately ejaculating, but looking into her eyes, he couldn't think of anything unpleasant. He could only think of her and her warm body waiting for him.

And—that wasn't helping!

"Shit!" he thought to himself as his cock lurched a bit. One thing was certain: it was definitely ready to venture into her and explode into a million pieces!

Eric took a deep breath and tried to be rational—to do his thinking with his "big head." He and Sookie had talked about this moment—talked about the fact that neither one of them had ever had sex without a condom. They'd both been tested to make sure they were clean—which was something of a minor miracle in his case, when he thought about it. "Yes!" he thought triumphantly. That thought was helping to calm him a bit.

So he kept thinking.

"Rational, rational, rational, rational,rational, rational, rational,rational, rational, rational," he thought.

He and Sookie both wanted this—wanted a connection without anything between them. They'd protected themselves from an unexpected pregnancy by making sure that Sookie had been on the pill for long enough for it to be in full effect.

Yes. They'd been practical.

Rational.

"Rational, rational, rational, rational, rational, rational, rational, rational, rational, rational."

And his dick could be the same. "Okay," he thought, hoping that his cock would overhear his words, "you and I can do this—together. We are going to go into Sookie and do a good job, and you are NOT going to erupt until AFTER she's orgasmed again—understand?"

His cock seemed to answer by pitching against Sookie's clit, causing her to mewl.

Eric took that as the best sign of agreement that he was going to get, even as he groaned in pleasure at the sensation.

He looked at Sookie in question—one last time—to make sure that she was sure that she wanted to make love without a rubbery "friend" onboard. Part of him didn't think that he deserved the honor that she was about to give him, but he was ready—so fucking ready—to be inside of her.

"Snälla," Sookie practically begged, saying one of the Swedish words she'd learned for their trip. "Please."

Eric nodded and set his tip against her opening as her legs wrapped around him. Slowly, he pushed inside of her, groaning and savoring her heat.

"Shit!" he said in ecstasy as he felt every single inch of her core welcoming him.

"Oh God!" she cried out in her pleasure. Sookie had never and would never regret protecting herself—from both pregnancy and disease—during her limited sexual experiences. And she was also glad that they had waited until her birth control pills were doing their job—so that they would have no worries plaguing the backs of their minds as they joined.

But she was glad—very glad—that the waiting was over!

For join they did!

Sex with Eric had been earthshattering before! However, apparently, those little pieces of rubber that they'd been using for protection had also been robbing them of sensations that amplified everything tenfold. And the pleasure of it was almost too much to bear.

"So warm," Eric groaned as he stilled his movements once he was fully sheathed inside of her.

As she felt his member stretching her, Sookie couldn't find the words to contradict him—despite the fact that, to her, his member felt cool against her heated inner flesh.

Eric was breathing heavily above her, but still not moving.

"You okay?" she managed.

"It's too good, "he answered with a pant. "I'm afraid to move—afraid that this will be over right now if I do," he added shakily.

She giggled a little. "Well—we can always do it again."

He chuckled even as he took some steadying breaths. "I think I'm okay now," he said as he waggled his eyebrows. "It's just that this feels good. So. Fucking. Good!"

She nodded in agreement and then moaned as he started to move out of her slowly before pushing in again.

"Eric," she sighed, as he started a steady, slow rhythm.

He kept up that pace for a minute or so and then quickened it, causing her to cry out in pleasure as he hit her G-spot with his unfettered member. He seemed to be touching every nerve in her body at that moment, and the feeling was beyond words.

It was as if an invisible and mystical bond were forming inside of them, fusing their bodies and souls together forever. And they were both lost to the feeling of it as their bodies moved toward release.

"Sookie," Eric panted above her, even as she felt his member swelling to an even greater size inside of her body. "Can I?"

"Yes!" she yelled, as her own internal muscles erupted and she came undone around him.

The feeling of her walls collapsing into what seemed to be every nerve ending of his sensitive organ was all Eric needed to finish his own journey to orgasm. And for the first time in his life, he felt his seed leave his body and move into a woman's.

It seemed as if a million thoughts flashed through Eric's mind as his release continued, and most of those thoughts were primal and instinctive. In that moment, he felt like the first and the only man on the earth, claiming the one woman who had been designed exclusively for him. He felt pure and privileged. He felt transported away from everything that wasn't her. But the thought that dominated his mind was a fantasy of Sookie being round and beautiful with his child. It was a dream that he knew could never be, but the beauty of it brought tears to his eyes, and they streaked down his cheeks.

Sookie didn't ask him about his tears. As if she could read his thoughts like an open book, she put her arms around his neck and brought her still quivering body upward so that she could meet his lips.

"We love each other, Eric," she whispered into his mouth, saying what needed to be said for the both of them.

"Alltid," he sighed and kissed her again. "Always."

That kiss soon led to renewed passion between them, and though Eric was certainly no longer a teenager, his cock was definitely still behaving like he was one.

"You're ready again?" she asked as she brightened to a nice shade of pink.

"With you?" he grunted, "always. You?"

"Alltid," she smiled and then moaned as he kissed her neck.

Eric moved them so that she was on top of him, which was a position they'd both found that they liked. It was also a position that Sookie was still getting used to since Bill had been a "missionary" man only, not that there was anything wrong with the missionary position—when it was done right, that is. She loved the feeling of Eric on top of her, his large body cocooning her and making her feel safe. However, with Eric, all positions seemed to lead to very happy moments for both him and her, and she had enjoyed experiencing the variety of ways that they could make love.

"What are you thinking in that beautiful brain of yours?" Eric asked as she sank down onto his shaft.

For once, she was glad that she could read his lips because it was difficult for her to concentrate on anything other than his enticing mouth and his girth inside of her.

They moaned as one as she took him in fully and then stayed still for a moment.

"I'm thinking that I like this," she said, as she looked down at their joined bodies. She put her hands onto his chest for leverage and slowly began to move her body up and down.

"You're beautiful like this," he grunted as he captured her breasts in his hands and then leaned upward to take one of them into his mouth.

"Eric," she gasped at the sensation of his tongue teasing her nipple. "Bite a little," she begged.

He complied. She'd learned early on that his own nipples were quite sensitive and responsive, and he enjoyed a little nip as well. Thus, he was more than happy to return the favor, and—from her mewling—it was clear that she was happy to get the favor returned.

After a few minutes, Eric could tell that Sookie was tiring from her exertions, so his hands went to her hips in order to help her keep up the delicious pace she'd set for them.

"Eric," she muttered, her head slumping forward in ecstasy as he used his strength to sit up and then thrust skyward, hitting the spot inside of her that drove her mad with pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him as he continued thrusting upward to meet her own downward movements.

Soon, they were both yelling out as their orgasms rippled through them. And then they sank into each other's embrace as they enjoyed the aftershocks of their releases. Finally, after a few pleasure-filled minutes, he withdrew and lay back, keeping her against his broad chest as he did so.

He sighed contentedly.

"Will Elsa really expect us there at 7 o'clock?" Sookie asked with a yawn.

"Oh yes," Eric replied drowsily. "And trust me—we don't want to be late."

"She'll get mad?" Sookie asked as she tried to burrow into his body even more.

"No," Eric replied. "It's just that she makes the best breakfasts I've ever had in my whole life."

Sookie giggled even as her stomach growled. Eric's stomach immediately gurgled as well—as if to answer hers.

They both laughed.

"Come," he said with a grin, managing to lift her off the bed while holding her against his body; she helped out by twining her arms and legs around him.

"It's messier without condoms," he observed almost to himself as he began the short walk toward the back of the house.

"But better," Sookie sighed, leaning her head into his neck.

"So. Much. Better," he agreed with a little chuckle.

He carried her to the shower and—for once—their bathing included very little hanky-panky, though a little light petting and kissing occurred as they washed each other's backs and then gave in and washed each other's fronts as well. Once they were squeaky clean and had run the small water heater out of hot water, Sookie set about preparing them a couple of sandwiches as Eric unpacked their things.

While eating—in bed—they chatted contentedly about their plans for the two weeks they were to be in Sweden. Since Gran and Mormor was interested in visiting the Viking Ship Museum with them, they were all planning to make the four-hour drive to Oslo, Norway after spending four days at the lake. Then, they would spend two days in Oslo, going to the museum and doing some window shopping.

Despite already spending a couple of days shopping in Stockholm the week before, Pam was planning to fill up another new suitcase or two in a second Scandinavian capital before flying back to New York directly from Oslo. Adele would also be flying out of Norway's capital city. Eric had already called Peder Lang and had asked if he would like to join Sookie, Mormor, and himself for lunch before they made the drive back to Mormor's house. After that, he and Sookie planned to spend five more lazy days with Mormor before driving to Stockholm alone for their last two days in Sweden. They'd decided to go to the Birka Museum and sightsee a little before flying to New York from Stockholm.

Their plans discussed and all of their appetites sated for the moment, they curled into each other's arms and slept soundly.


	61. We Just Do

Chapter 61: We Just Do

Sookie opened her eyes to her view of the woods and stretched her arms above her head. She sighed. As she and Eric were learning about all happy times, their time in Sweden had flown by, and suddenly, it was their last full day at Lake Vänern. They would be leaving for Stockholm the next morning.

She reached out her hand toward Eric's side of the bed. As expected, he wasn't there. She sat up and stretched again, recounting just how she'd gotten so deliciously sore the day before.

Around noon the previous day, Mormor had driven to Växjö, where good friends of hers and Johan's were celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary. The matriarch had apologized profusely for leaving Eric and Sookie on their penultimate day with her, especially since she would be spending the night away. However, Eric had shooed his mormor away with assurances that they would all spend a lovely afternoon and evening together before they left.

As soon as his grandmother's car was out of sight, Eric had begun to enact an obviously planned out "operation" to have sex with Sookie in every location he'd ever imagined taking a woman during his adolescence.

It turned out that he'd had quite an active imagination; he still did.

First, they'd had sex in his old room, which Sookie consented to somewhat reluctantly since she'd come to think of that room as Gran's while the elder Stackhouse woman had been visiting. However, Sookie had finally been "convinced" when Eric "cheated" and stripped in front of her. After that, she had participated whole-heartedly in "Operation Adolescent Fantasy Fulfillment."

After that, he'd led her to the deck, where she'd held onto the railing for dear life as he'd pounded into her from behind. She'd learned two things from that experience. First, a splinter or two didn't matter at all when one was being sexed up so thoroughly. And, second, having sex while standing up was amazing—with a capital "E" for "Eric's stamina!" Sookie was just glad that he'd been able to keep them both on their feet when their orgasms had hit them like a Mack truck.

Next they'd spent some "quality time" in Elsa's bathtub. Elsa had been right. The water from the hot springs had been wonderful and had soothed her already taxed womanly parts. What had been even more "soothing," however, had been what Eric did to her when he set her on the ledge of the tub. She was still tingling from his gentle "care."

After that, Eric had wanted to move on to the sauna, which was in its own little building and which they'd enjoyed many times during their stay—but hadn't yet had the opportunity to "enjoy" as Eric wanted. However, Sookie had put her foot down and had requested a time-out to recover. She'd needed at least a little resting-time for her lady bits, even if Eric was experiencing a resurgence of teenaged stamina. The truth was that he was a "big boy," and—even though she had no complaints whatsoever about his length or girth—she was experiencing some soreness, especially given all the sex they'd already had during their vacation.

Plus, she'd needed food!

Of course, Eric had pouted about not getting sauna sex immediately, even though he'd looked as worn out as she had. But he'd stopped moping as they'd grilled up some vegetables and two freshwater whitefish, called vendace, that they'd caught in the lake the day before. While they were eating, they'd reached a compromise. They'd agreed to "utilize" the sauna the next day—now today—since Mormor wasn't due back until the afternoon.

However, once back at the lake house the previous evening, Sookie had felt rested enough for round four, which Eric had enthusiastically been "up" for. In no hurry, Eric had touched and kissed and nipped at every inch of her body. And he'd brought her to the edge of release so many times that she'd turned into a whimpering puddle of need. Of course, she'd made sure that she showed Eric similar attention, taking the time to kiss every magnificent inch of his 6'4" frame and paying special attention to the inches that drove him most crazy. After they'd finally put themselves out of their "misery" by joining their bodies together, their mutual orgasms had been enough to induce coma-worthy sleep.

She moaned a little at the memory and looked at the clock. It was only 5:20 a.m. Eric was an early riser as it was, but in Sweden, he generally rose between 4:30 and 5:00 and spent the first part of his day taking a swim in the lake. Sookie shivered even thinking about that.

Even in the summer, the water in Lake Vänern was quite cool, so she had confined her own swimming to the afternoons when it was warmer outside. However—even then—her swims often lasted only long enough for her to get to the floating lounge, where she would bask in the sun to warm herself up. That particular piece of "furniture" had become her favorite place in Sweden, both because Eric had made it and because it was wonderful to sunbathe on. The sloshing sound of the water against the lounge, added to the gentle swaying caused by the waves, created heaven as far as Sookie was concerned.

Of course, it didn't hurt that Eric had "enjoyed" the lounge with her—several times, in fact. Indeed, they'd enjoyed the lounge quite a bit, rocking together as the water had rocked them both. She blushed a little at that thought and wrapped the quilt around her so that she could go steal a glimpse of the best sight in the world.

She put on her slippers and hurried outside and then down the steps to the water's edge. Normally, she would have been reticent about having only a blanket wrapped around her nude body, but she'd finally become convinced that Eric and she were truly isolated in the area surrounding the lake house—so much so that she'd even taken up sunbathing nude—after Pam had returned to New York, of course. Despite Eric telling Sookie that Pam was just kidding when she threatened to drive Mormor's boat over and make a surprise visit sometime, Sookie's outdoor nude excursions had started only when both Pam and Gran were back on a different continent.

Sookie heard Eric before she saw him. He was moving through the water at a swift, fluid pace. The opposite shoreline was about thirty yards away, and he was almost to it. Sookie let out a little moan as she took in his lithe body. She had no idea how he could swim in the cool water nonstop for half an hour, but he did so with ease. And he always came out of the water invigorated and horny, which was very good news for her.

Plus, he was extremely fun to watch, for he had an aversion to wearing a swimsuit in their private cove.

Yummy.

She sat down on the steps and watched as he made his turn and swam back toward their shoreline. He'd changed from the freestyle stroke to the backstroke for the return trip, and Sookie gasped a little as she watched the water tease his beautiful torso, sloshing back and forth across his waist and other—even more captivating—parts of his body. As always, she strained her eyes to try to see a particular protruding part of his anatomy that managed to stay a very—very—respectable size even in the cool water. However, the waves, which were slightly more vigorous than usual, kept that particular part of his body hidden from her.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath, a little angry with Mother Nature for messing up her morning show.

"Hey," he greeted as he swam up to the bottom of the steps and leaned against them.

"Hey yourself," she smiled, noting that he wasn't even breathing very hard.

"Two more laps," he said with a grin. "Then we can go make breakfast at Mormor's and have some quality sauna time," he waggled his eyebrows.

"Sounds good," she said with a blush.

"Wanna join me in here?" he asked with a devilish grin. "We haven't had 'quality time' in the lake yet.

Even the thought of the cold water made her shiver, and she pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders.

He chuckled. "You'd better get dressed then, or I won't be able to resist having my—uh—breakfast before my breakfast."

She giggled.

He pointed to his lips as if he were expecting her to lean over and kiss him.

"Nuh-uh, Buddy," she said playfully, shaking her head.

"Buddy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "What? You don't trust me?" he asked mischievously.

"Last time I bent down to kiss you I landed in the water."

He grinned. "It is slippery over here," he said, trying to sound innocent. "Plus, I thought you enjoyed getting all wet." He licked his lips lasciviously.

"Just get back to your swim," she chided lightheartedly.

He chuckled and then swam away from her, now doing the butterfly stroke. Sookie stayed a little while longer in order to appreciate his back and his bottom tunneling in and out of the water as he swam away.

She sighed. "You really are a beautiful man, Eric Northman," she said in a quiet voice that she knew he wouldn't hear. As cold as the water was, she was tempted—very tempted—for a moment to dive in after him. But sauna sex sounded better—and warmer!

Deciding that she'd better put on some clothes, she went back into the lake house. Since it was chilly—at least for her—and since they would be going across the lake in the boat, which made things even chillier, Sookie put on a long pair of flannel lounge pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She completed her outfit with the beautiful sweater that Eric had gotten for her in Oslo. She couldn't help but to appreciate its softness. Generally, she would have resisted such a gift, especially when she'd seen how much it had cost. After all, Eric had already spent so much money on her and Gran's airplane tickets. However, the look in his eyes when he'd presented her with the item had been enough to make her keep it. He'd obviously noticed her eyeing the garment in one of the many shops Pam had dragged them to. And he'd managed to get it as a surprise for her.

It was functional, beautiful and comfortable, and it had come from the heart, so Sookie had accepted the gift with the caveat that Eric didn't make buying her expensive things a habit.

She was just lacing up her tennis shoes when Eric came in with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

She couldn't help her sharp intake of breath.

"See something you like?" he asked knavishly.

She nodded. "Oh, yes! But I'm hungry—for food—so get dressed."

He gave her a wink and then dropped his towel in an exaggerated manner—before going to the back of the little dwelling.

She gathered all of her willpower and busied herself with making the bed and then folding the quilt she'd been using. Out of the fear that she'd "crack" and jump his bones—before breakfast—she didn't even look at the towel which had so recently been hiding some of his best assets.

"I hope you know that I'm planning on messing up the bed later," he growled a little as he reentered the room, this time dressed in jeans, a green T-shirt that brought out his eyes, and a light sweater. He slipped on a pair of sandals.

She gave him a coy smile. "I'm planning on it too. Now pick up your towel!" she ordered playfully.

He chuckled and bent down to pick it up—but not before turning around so that she'd get a tempting look at one of her favorite parts of his anatomy.

"Sometimes you're the devil, Mr. Northman," she giggled.

He chuckled and threw the towel into the laundry bundle that they were taking up to the main house. Then—like a predator—he stalked over to her and bent down to capture her lips. It was a slow, deep kiss, holding within it a lot of promises.

"Yesterday was amazing," he whispered into her ear before kissing behind it.

She shivered. "Yeah."

"Do you want more?" he asked as he nipped her earlobe.

"Yeah," she repeated with a sigh before smacking his shoulder. "But I need food first!"

"Cruel, cruel woman," he joked.

She smiled widely as he gave her one last peck on the cheek and then led her out of the lake house and down the steps to where the boat was docked.

"I assume you'll want to drive?" Eric asked, tossing Sookie the key.

She grinned. "Of course."

The week before, he'd taught her how to drive the boat, which was a small wooden motor boat. She'd loved it! When he'd taught her, he had discovered that she couldn't drive a car, a skill that he promised to teach her when they got back to New York. Moreover, he'd learned that she'd never stepped foot onto a boat at all!

Even from the first, however, Eric had been able to tell that she very much enjoyed the sensation of being on the water, and she also enjoyed having control over the vessel. So unless they were returning to the lake house after dark, Sookie had become the de facto driver.

She giggled a little as she started up the boat's engine after Eric unmoored them. She always smiled or laughed as she drove the boat; Eric just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Sookie felt like she was sweating out all of the water in her body as she rode Eric, and given the fact that she couldn't understand any of the words coming out of his mouth, she feared for a moment that she might be hallucinating or becoming delirious because of over-exertion. However, with relief, she realized that he was speaking in Swedish—likely cursing. And that fact made her feel very powerful—despite all the sweat coursing from both of them. He cursed in Swedish only when she was figuratively screwing his brains out. It was as if some inner Viking came out of him in those moments.

Adding fuel to that claim, he grunted below her, which made her feel even more powerful and sexy and . . . .

"Oh God!" she exclaimed, losing her thought, as he thrust upward into her just right, hitting the spot that seemed liked the "X" on a treasure map to her. She arched her back at the force of his upward pounding, thankful that his hands on her back were holding her steady.

One more thrust from him, and her sheath was throbbing around his emptying member. They shivered against each other as their releases subsided and they caught their breaths. Neither one of them was anxious to disconnect from the other.

"I'm hot," Sookie finally said when their bodies threatened to stick together because of their sweat.

Eric chuckled. "Yes. Having sex in a sauna can do that to someone—especially if it's a real sauna."

"Your sauna in New York is real."

He scoffed. "Our sauna. And it's not the same; it never gets hot enough."

"I don't know," Sookie commented as he picked her up and walked them both to the entrance of the small building. "It was pretty hot in there two days before we came here when you were teaching me—uh—what did you call it? Oh yes! 'Sauna safety facts.'"

He chuckled as he continued walking them down the path to the lake and then directly into the water so that they could cool off.

"Ahh," she sounded happily. For once the cool water felt just right.

"Safety is very important, min älskare," he smiled.

"What time do you think it is?" Sookie asked as she held onto him and paddled her feet gently in the water.

"10:00 or so," Eric answered as he looked up at the sky. They'd gotten to Mormor's at about 6:30; then they'd cooked breakfast together before cleaning up around the house and doing several loads of laundry. Once the final load was in the dryer, they'd had their sauna time.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he kept her afloat.

"You really are a good swimmer," she said.

He chuckled. "I'm not swimming." He bent his knees a little to show her that he'd been touching bottom.

She giggled. "Then you really are mutantly tall. You know that—right?"

"How is it that our bodies fit together so perfectly then?" he asked, his expression completely serious; he obviously sought a 'real' answer from her.

"We just do," she responded, knowing that it was both the simplest and the most complicated answer she could give. Her teeth chattered a little.

"Getting cold?" he asked.

She nodded, and he began walking them toward the shoreline. Not wanting to leave his arms, she wrapped her legs around him again; thankfully, he was more than happy to carry her. It wasn't long before they were back at the sauna. However, instead of going back inside, he sat down in one of the large lounge chairs on the sauna's small deck. She was content to curl into his lap and let the air dry them, though she did cover herself with one of the huge towels Elsa kept stocked near the sauna. Earlier, Eric had put some water and fruit on the table, and they rehydrated themselves as they enjoyed the calming sounds of the warming day.

"Sookie?" Eric asked after about half an hour of comfortable silence; his voice betrayed that he was nervous.

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you about something related to your past, but I don't want to upset you. And I don't want to ruin this morning, but," he paused, "I find that I want to know the answer. I think I need to know the answer—if you'll tell me," he finished in a whisper.

Sookie looked into Eric's eyes and saw the struggle there. She could tell that he didn't want to do anything to mess up their perfect day. On the other hand, he was obviously concerned about something.

"Okay, but can we talk back at the lake house?" she asked. "Truthfully, I'm already getting a little nervous that Elsa will come back early and find us here—naked."

Eric chuckled softly, "Okay. I have somewhere I want to take you anyway. And I don't exactly want Mormor to find us like this either. It would only start her asking about great-grandchildren again."

Sookie giggled a little, though her eyes betrayed sadness. "She really is relentless with that topic—isn't she?"

Eric nodded, rose, and set Sookie onto her feet. He kissed her on the forehead and pulled the towel around her body. After tucking another towel around his waist and sliding on his flip flops, Eric gathered up their used water bottles and the leftover fruit as Sookie slipped on the flip flops she'd borrowed from Mormor.

They quickly folded the dry laundry and redressed. Eric got the quilt from his old room before leading her to the boat dock.

"So—where are we going?" Sookie asked as she relinquishing the boat keys to him.

"To my favorite place on the lake," he responded.

After Sookie unmoored them, Eric headed the boat north instead of southwest, which was the direction in which they traveled to get to the lake house.

"Are we going to the main lake?" Sookie asked.

"Close to it," Eric responded. "From my spot, you can see the main lake really well."

"Your spot?" Sookie asked with a smile.

Eric chuckled. "Well—I always thought of it as mine; it's where I would come to think once Morfar let me take the boat out on my own."

"How old were you when he let you do that?"

"I was ten," Eric said with a smile, "though I wasn't allowed to try to take the boat into the main lake at the time. Before that, I'd just swim out here." He smiled a little. "I think Morfar finally decided that it was safer for me to have the boat than to swim all the way out here by myself."

Sookie giggled. "I don't know. You are something of a fish."

Since Elsa's house wasn't that far from the mouth of her little nook of the lake, it didn't take them long to get to Eric's spot. Basically, it was just a little island—only about fifteen feet in diameter and close to the northwest shore. Sookie could see where Elsa's secluded part of the lake met up with the main lake about a fifty yards to the north of where they were. Indeed, it was a narrow passage, and Sookie saw boulders jutting up in a dangerous configuration.

"Those are why hardly anyone ventures in here," Eric commented when he saw the direction of her gaze. "The trees also help," he said, pointing to clusters of trees on either side of the narrow opening. "From the main lake, they make it hard to see in here."

Sookie nodded as Eric slowly brought the boat up to the little island until the bow was literally parked on the pebbles. Eric jumped out with the mooring rope in his hands and then secured the vessel to a post that someone—likely Eric himself—had put into the ground.

"Could you hand me the blanket?" Eric requested. "And you might want to take off your shoes. The ground's a bit wet along the shore, but I'll lift you out."

While Sookie took off her shoes, Eric spread the quilt onto a dry patch of land near the lone tree on the little island. Then he lifted her out of the boat and carried her over to the quilt before taking off his own shoes and sitting beside her.

Sookie knew that this was where Eric wanted to have their conversation, but she could also tell that he was struggling to begin it.

"You can ask me anything, Eric," she said, though she couldn't help but to fear just what he was going to say.


	62. They Always Do

Chapter 62: They Always Do

[Warning: Abuse described. Skip the part in italics if you don't want to read that part.]

Eric took a deep breath. "I've noticed something that you do sometimes, and I've wanted to ask you about it for a while now."

"Okay," she encouraged—despite her fear.

He took another breath. "It's just that you sometimes stare into corners—almost like something forces your eyes to go to them." He paused. "And sometimes you seem to get trapped looking into them."

"Oh," Sookie said in a whisper. "I thought I didn't do that much anymore."

"You don't—at least, not often," Eric assured. "But sometimes. I notice it sometimes."

"When?"

He sighed. "In the closet while you were packing to come to Sweden. You were in there for a while, so I came to check on you." He reached for her hand. "In our bedroom a few weeks ago. I thought you were reading, but when I looked up, your eyes were in the corner."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't realize."

He reached out to take her hand. "It happened more often in your old room at Amelia's when we were spending our first week together. And then earlier this morning—in the sauna—before we made love. It's almost like you go somewhere else for a little while, and the look on your face . . . ." He was quiet for a moment and then took another deep breath. "The look on your face tells me that you're in pain." He closed his eyes. "I don't want you to be in pain, Sookie." He opened his eyes, and Sookie could see that they were reddening and bright. "I think it has something to do with your mother—with Michelle—because it's the same look you get when you talk about her."

He shook his head a little as he saw her pained expression. "You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, Sookie."

She sighed. "It's okay. It's something I used to do even more. Gran was the first to notice that I was doing it. She said that sometimes I'd spend hours staring into a corner. She figured I was thinking things through, and I never corrected her. I just started trying to recognize when and where I was doing it. I know that I did it a lot in my dorm room at Ole Miss, which is probably one of the reasons why I never kept a roommate for very long." She smiled sadly. "After a while, I was just given my own room, and then in graduate school, I was able to afford my own small apartment because I did some editing work for the Lafayette County Newspaper." She paused. "I caught myself staring into corners in my apartment too—but not as much as before. It usually happens in smaller rooms where there aren't many windows." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if it bothers you. Claudine's helped a lot by giving me strategies when I catch myself doing it."

"It doesn't bother me," Eric assured her.

"It is sort of a weird behavior though," she said with a sigh. "I wouldn't blame you if it did bother you a little."

"It only bothers me in that you seem upset when it's happening."

She reached over and ran her free hand along his cheekbone before biting her lip as if she wanted to say something. He sat silently as he waited for her to decide whether she wanted to talk or not.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "You're right about it being because of my mother—because of Michelle. She used to punish me by setting me in the corner in my room. She'd—uh—hit me or make me sit there longer if I didn't keep my eyes trained right into the corner too. Sometimes, she'd turn off the lights in my room, and since she'd put up a thick curtain on the one window in my room and I was not allowed to open it, there wasn't a lot of light in there."

"Your dad let this happen?" Eric asked in a somewhat strangled tone.

"He didn't know about the things she did," Sookie explained. "Michelle always made sure that my punishment ended before he got home from work. But I spent most of my weekends and a lot of hours after school staring into that corner."

Sookie felt a hot tear streaming from her eye, but before she could wipe it away, Eric had produced a handkerchief for her to use.

She smiled at him. "I love that you use these. My dad always did too. I remember how nice a stack of them would look after I washed and ironed them. It was my favorite part of doing the laundry."

Sookie wiped her eyes. "In fact, for a while, only chores would get me out of being punished, so I loved them."

"What were you punished for?" Eric asked hesitantly.

"Most of the time, it was because I'd get a word wrong when I was reading lips. Michelle would make me watch television, and she would drill me. Of course, she would be able to hear the T.V., and sometimes I would mispronounce things, especially when I was younger or didn't know the word. She said that she wanted for me to seem normal in public, but—of course—she made sure to tell everyone that she knew that I was abnormal. They felt sorry for her because of all the effort she made to give me a normal life—effort that she claimed I just didn't appreciate," she said bitterly.

She closed her eyes. "I got so good at reading lips because of that 'training.'" She sighed as she reopened her eyes. "When I was older and became more proficient, my mother would put on the area Spanish channel, and I had to produce those words too. She'd drill me until I made a mistake."

"Until she could justify your punishment," Eric said, his jaw tightening.

She nodded. "Yes. I would eventually make a mistake, so into the corner I would go." She shivered a little and paused for a moment. Eric wanted to pull her to him, but—intuiting that she should be the one to initiate more contact between them—he refrained. Instead, he merely squeezed her hand in encouragement.

"I hated being punished because Michelle or Jason would sometimes creep into my room and watch me—to make sure I didn't look anywhere but into the corner. If I did, I was in worse trouble. Sometimes I could almost feel them there, but I could never be sure unless I saw their shadows or unless one of them hit me or nudged the chair. But I didn't dare to turn around. Of course, Jason would sometimes tell Michelle that I wasn't looking in the corner—even when I was."

Anger clouded Eric's face. "Why would he do that?"

Sookie shrugged. "Jason definitely has a cruel streak like Michelle, but—in his defense—she taught him to resent me as much as she did. And I've read that a lot of older siblings are mean to younger ones. However, with a different mother, I don't think he would've been nearly as bad. And—uh—he wasn't the worst part," she said with unease. She closed her eyes. "I haven't even told Claudine about the worst part yet."

"You can tell me," Eric encouraged gently, "but only if you want to."

Sookie nodded, but moved her eyes from him to the main lake. Both Sookie and Eric were silent for a while.

"I know why you chose this place to be your spot," she finally said, as her eyes trailed a boat, which was slowing down near their cove.

"Yeah," Eric said following her gaze to the boat. It carried a smiling family, including several kids whose laughter echoed off the cliffs behind them. "It's beautiful here, but mostly I came to watch people like that," he said, gesturing toward the boat. "It's what I always wanted. I didn't think I'd ever have it, but it made me feel better to know that it could exist—somewhere." His voice lowered to a whisper. "It just wasn't something that was meant for me."

"And you could watch without anyone seeing," she observed.

"Boys and men aren't supposed to cry—you know," he said at an even lower volume. "When I was very little—before I found this place—I would cry during my meetings with Appius, and he would tell me that it was a sign that I was weak and unworthy to be his son." He paused. "But after I found this place, everything changed. Out here—where no one could hear or see or know—I could cry. So—when I had my meetings with Appius—I would just store up my tears." He chuckled ruefully. "If an Eric cries in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Does it even happen?"

"No," she whispered. "No—there is no sound," she added, answering the question for her own childhood, as well as his.

He gave her a sad smile. "I would collect a year's worth of pain and let it out here—next to this tree."

"Like the trees in the Monet painting—lonely," she observed as she thought back to their first encounter and the way he'd looked at Monet's The Four Trees with a mixture of longing and pain before he'd schooled his expression into one that was carefree—one which she now understood was a part of his carefully crafted public persona.

"Even lonelier. It's why I began to carry these when I was in Sweden," he said, gesturing toward the handkerchief.

She nodded and looked back at the family on the boat. Away from the busy center of the lake, the father had put the vessel's anchor down just north of the mouth of the little cove, and the kids were jumping out to swim. Their laughter echoed even louder than before.

Sookie spoke in almost a mechanical way. "My mother would sometimes have my uncle Bartlett babysit me and Jason when she went out. Actually, he was my dad's uncle—Gran's brother—so I guess he was my great uncle." She squeezed Eric's hand and then turned it over. As she traced patterns onto his palm, her eyes stayed on the family in the main lake.

"I found out a few years ago that Gran was estranged from Bartlett. He was quite a bit younger than she was—by more than ten years. And they had never really gotten along. But my mother seemed to like him." She paused and continued to draw on Eric's palm, using the action to steady her nerves.

"The first time he babysat for me and Jason, I was pretty young—five or six, I think. I had good and bad days with my hearing then, but Michelle had already started my 'training.' I was being punished for not saying the word 'execution' correctly." She paused. "It's funny that I can remember that, but I do. I was just learning how to read lips at the time, and I don't think I'd ever heard that word before. But—then again—it's not really a word someone that young tends to know." She sighed. "I said it like 'exe-cushion.' That's what it looked like to me the first time I saw someone say it, but I never made that mistake again."

"What happened?" Eric asked his voice shaking a little from both fear and rage.

"My mother decided that I needed to be punished. As always, she moved one of the wooden kitchen chairs into my room and arranged it so that it was facing the corner. The chair was so straight and put so close to the wall that it would trap in my legs between the corners of the seat once I was sitting. And I knew that I had to stay still—completely still—and look into the corner."

He turned his hand over to capture hers when he felt that her hand was trembling.

"My hearing was just a big buzz that day, so—at first—I couldn't tell if anyone was behind me," she continued, her teeth chattering despite the warm temperature. "Like I said, sometimes Jason would come in. Most of the time, he would just kick my chair or thump my head. But—that day—Uncle Bartlett had come for the first time. I'd known that he would be there sometime that afternoon because I'd 'read' my mother telling Jason about it earlier that day. I'd hoped that Jason wouldn't pick on me when he was there." She paused. "And Jason didn't."

"What happened?" Eric asked in a whisper, even though the biggest part of him didn't want to hear her response.

"The first time he was there, I knew that my door had been shut. Usually, it stayed open throughout my punishments. But I knew it'd been shut because the room got darker. For a long time, I didn't know if anyone was in the room with me. And then, I saw something move on the wall—a shadow, a lot bigger than Jason's." She paused as fear radiated off of her body. "After a while, I felt his breath on my neck, but I didn't dare turn around. Later, I told my mother that Uncle Bartlett scared me, but she just slapped my ears and told me that my punishment for being difficult was that I would have to sit in the corner every time Uncle Bartlett babysat so that I wouldn't bother him."

Eric closed his eyes tightly, trying to curb his anger so that Sookie would feel safe enough to continue. The last thing that she needed was for him to lash out angrily at the man who had abused her.

She continued. "He babysat a couple of times a month, always on Saturdays, and—even though he didn't stay for much longer than a few hours each time—it seemed like he'd be there forever." She stopped talking for a while, and eventually she repositioned herself so that her back was to Eric's chest. She leaned against him, and he slowly wrapped his arms around her until his hands were resting gently at her waist.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and kept her gaze fixed on the boat.

"At first," she resumed, "Uncle Bartlett would just be in the room with me, but later he began to touch me. And then he made me touch him."

"How bad did it get?" Eric asked in a strained voice.

She took a shaky breath. "All things considered, I was lucky; he touched me only over my clothes, but he," she paused, "touched me everywhere he could without moving me from the chair."

Eric took a haggard breath behind her.

Sookie went on. "I just focused on one spot in the corner, a little mark I'd put on the wall with a pencil—only a dot really. But I wouldn't take my eyes off of it." She shook her head. "No matter what! Eventually, his touching me wasn't enough for him, and he would take down his pants and put my hand around his penis," she continued almost clinically. "Then he would move back and forth until he finished, but I never looked at him or it."

Eric wanted to hold her tighter, but he stayed still. He wanted to take away Sookie's horrific memories of her uncle, but he couldn't. He felt more helpless than he had when he was six years old and sitting in front of his father.

"It was weird, but when he was there, that spot on the wall was my sanctuary, even though I hated that corner." Sookie's voice trailed off a little. "When I was eight years old, Bartlett was arrested for molesting my cousin Hadley. She was a few years older than I was, and from what I read from my father's lips, he did far worse things to her than he did to me. Hadley's mom came home early one day when he was babysitting her." She shook her head. "He had Hadley in his lap and they were both naked. I don't know if he raped her. My dad didn't say."

"Oh god," Eric said under his breath.

Sookie tore her gaze from the water and turned to face Eric. When she saw his agonized and disgusted look, she immediately tried to move out of his arms.

"No," he said, holding onto her with a mixture of firmness and gentleness. "No," he repeated fervently as if he could see the self-destructive path of her thoughts. He intuited that she thought he was blaming her somehow. Or maybe she thought he felt less for her now. With his emphatic "No," he wanted to nip both of those potential thoughts—or any other negative ones—in the bud.

"Nothing you have told me changes how I feel about you, Sookie. You're a beautiful, incredible person on the outside and on the inside. But I've always known that—always! Now I just know more about what you've had to overcome in your life. And—if anything—I'm even more amazed that you are the remarkable woman you are. I'm proud to be with you—and even prouder of who you are. And—by God—I swear that if I see you staring into a corner, I will either come and stare at it with you or I will stand in it myself, so that you can stare at me!"

For a moment, Sookie was taken aback by the vehemence in his voice, but then, suddenly, tears started streaming from her eyes. She wiped them with his handkerchief.

"I've done that before," she said after she'd composed herself.

"Done what?"

"Stared at you in a corner. The first time I saw you, you were in a corner in the Monet Gallery. You were watching everyone—just like I watch everyone. It seemed like you were looking for anyone who would hurt you, but no one was looking at you—except for me."

He smiled a little. "You're right. I learned when I was a kid that if I stood in a corner, fewer people would look at me, and I could stay out of the way. Sometimes being invisible is a good thing."

She took his hand, finding intense comfort in his warmth. "Claudine has helped me to understand that I will sometimes seek out a corner to look into—when I'm feeling scared or insecure or vulnerable. She says that it's an automatic response, like shivering when there's snow outside. But she also says that I can work on recognizing when I'm doing it. And then all I have to do is to tell myself to look away. It was hard for me to do that at first, but I'm getting better at it. Now I just think that if I wouldn't have felt nervous and vulnerable at the Northman party the first January that I was in Manhattan, I wouldn't have looked into the corner of the Monet Gallery. I wouldn't have seen you."

They both knew that she was talking about seeing him in a way that no one else ever had or ever could see him. It was the same way that he was able to see her.

"I saw you too," he said, lifting his hand up to touch her hair. "I saw your hair."

She nodded and smiled a little. "I know. I'm sorry that I didn't—that I couldn't—turn around and look at you then, even though I felt that you were looking at me." She sighed. "But I was so withdrawn then that I couldn't help but to hide from you too," she admitted. "I certainly wouldn't have been ready to fall in love with you like I have."

He bent forward and kissed her lips gently. "I'm grateful every day that you love me, Sookie."

She smiled and kissed him lightly in return.

Their talk over, they were both drained and content to be quiet for a while. Eric repositioned himself so that he was leaning against the tree, and Sookie leaned back against him, his long legs on either side of hers. He stroked her hair, and it wasn't long before Sookie dozed off.

He continued to watch the family playing in the water.

Being with Sookie had been the most fulfilling part of his life, and being with her in the place where he felt safest had been even better. He couldn't help but to wonder what it would be like if he and Sookie were free to stay together and have a family. Would there be boat rides and laughter in the summers? Would he and Sookie sneak kisses like the couple on the boat had done as their children splashed happily in the water? Could he give his children the kind of love he'd always craved?

He could almost see Sookie and himself, smiling and laughing with a boatful of children: a little girl with Sookie's eyes and wavy blond hair, a tall and gangly boy whom he'd teach to swim, a tiny baby cradled in his mother's arms. And Sookie looking up at him, her eyes absorbing all the light of the sun.

"I love you," he'd be unafraid to tell them—again and again. He'd make sure they heard it every day.

His body shook with a sudden sob, causing Sookie to stir against him. Eric stilled and closed his eyes to close out the family on the boat. He knew better than to dream too much—to want too much. It would only cause him more pain. He banished his fantasy. After all, the closest that he would ever get to it would be the very moment that he was in—the fleeting feeling of holding the woman he couldn't even say, "I love you," to out loud.

He sighed and swore that things would be different for any child that he had. Since the contract he'd made with his father demanded at least one child from him—with a "suitable" woman, of course—he vowed that he would let his child dream anything he or she wanted. And he planned to keep that child as far away from Appius as possible so that his father couldn't steal those dreams away.

No—Eric thought to himself—he would not be the happy man on the boat, living in contentment and stealing kisses from Sookie as she nursed their baby. But he could be a parent who brought his child to this lake during the summers. And—perhaps—if he married someone like Isabel, she would come too and watch over the child with him.

He could have half the dream.

"They moved on," Sookie said as she stirred in his arms and looked out toward the main lake where the family had, indeed, pulled up anchor and gone.

"They always do," Eric whispered.


	63. Leaving Home

Chapter 63: Leaving Home

September 29, 2012

"You could stay at Pam's until it's over," Eric said resignedly as Sookie packed an overnight bag.

"You and Pam both said that Sophie-Anne sometimes wants to go down there to 'rest' when you have business parties here," Sookie sighed. "We both know it's safer if I just go to Amelia's. And it's just for one night; it'll be nice to have a girls' night. Amelia's determined to get me drunk on tequila."

Eric chuckled. "Yes—Pam is disappointed she can't join you two." He sighed, as he hugged her from behind. "I know I shouldn't be so selfish with you, but you'll also be gone most of the day tomorrow because of the party set-up, and the weekends are usually," he paused, "just ours."

"I know," Sookie said sadly as she leaned against him. "But I'll meet you Sunday at the MET."

"Yes," Eric said. "Sunday."

They were silent for a few moments. Both of them were a little nervous about being separated the next night. It would be their first night apart since they got together, and it was coming at a bad time too—since Eric had just begun therapy sessions with Claudine. Sookie was extremely proud of him for taking the risk and getting some help, and Eric was proud of himself too; however, he was also feeling especially "exposed" due to the issues he'd been discussing with Claudine. Added to that was Appius's insistence that he be present during Eric's meetings with the Chinese delegation from Guangzhou Press. Even though Eric had ultimate control over the foreign accounts, Appius was still managing to make his life difficult.

Sookie sighed and turned in his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. As always, when they stood as they were standing, his neck tilted almost automatically, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"I'm going to miss your body," she said, hugging him tighter.

He snorted out a chuckle. "Not my mind?"

"Oh!" she cried out before laughing. "That sounded bad—didn't it?"

"Only if I objected to being just an object to you," he winked, his eyes twinkling. "However, I have no such objections. I rather like being your boy toy."

She giggled and smacked his bottom before returning to her packing. After zipping her bag, she looked up at Eric to see him gazing at her with love-filled eyes. He'd still not been able to say the words, "I love you," to her, but she wasn't pushing for them. In truth, she didn't need them. Seeing him looking at her as he was now was more than enough.

"I know what you meant," he said seriously. "About missing your body." He reached out and took her hand, looking at their entwined fingers as he did. "I will miss being able to just reach out like this and have you there."

She nodded.

Before the mood could become too somber and before their thoughts could slip to that inevitable day when they would be separated forever, he smiled mischievously. "And—of course—I will miss being able to do what we did in the kitchen earlier."

Her face immediately turned red as she recalled how he'd placed her on the kitchen counter and given her an orgasm with his tongue before putting her back onto her feet, spinning her around, entering her from behind, and giving her another one with his cock.

Truth be told, their passion for each other had been growing rather than lessening over the almost four months they'd been together, and very few days had gone by during those months when they hadn't made love—at least once.

"Bath?" Eric inquired, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

She giggled. "Yes and a movie."

He chuckled. "So the man cave it is. You got a movie preference?"

"Something funny?" she suggested.

"How about Best in Show?"

"Yeah," she smiled before her lips turned downward a little.

"What's up?" he asked.

She sighed. "Are we sure it's safe for me to leave my clothes and stuff out in the open like this? I mean—what if someone comes back here by mistake and wonders why there are women's clothes in your closet or why there's a pink razor in your shower."

"Perhaps, they'd just think I was exploring my femininity," Eric smiled.

She giggled and seemed to be assessing him. "Yep. You'd make a pretty woman—tall, blonde, and gorgeous. But—unfortunately—the size of the clothes is all wrong; otherwise, it would probably work."

He chuckled. "Henry."

"Huh?" she asked, not following the leap in the conversation. "Henry?" she asked. "I don't think he'd prefer you looking like a woman. He likes guys," she reminded with a chuckle.

He laughed heartily. "You're right, but I was referring to the fact that Henry will make sure no one comes back here during the party. He's going to be the guard in the foyer, and I've also hired Thalia and Blake to help make sure that no one ventures into any part of the house he or she isn't supposed to go into. They're even going to keep Pam out so that Appius won't get suspicious. And—of course—the group from China won't snoop around. Only Appius, Andre, Sophie-Anne, or Nora might, but Henry is going to make sure that doesn't happen. Plus, Bobby's going to be around."

"You're bringing out the big guns for this," she joked a little.

Eric sighed. "I'd prefer it if Appius didn't step foot into our house at all. I don't want him here."

"Me neither."

Eric looked down for a moment. "To tell you the truth, I think that Isabel's being here will help. Appius keeps pushing for me to see her more, and her presence will shut him up for a while."

Sookie tensed up slightly, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. In the four months that she and Eric had been together, he'd been out with Isabel six times. All but two of those "dates" had been to high society or charity functions. One had been to Gracie's dance recital. The last had been to a romantic restaurant frequented by the A-list of New York and plenty of photographers; the dinner had been something that Bobby had suggested so that Appius would stop hassling Eric about not committing to Isabel. Of course, Eric had been photographed with the beautiful brunette at the society and charity events, and they'd looked as good together as ever in Page 6 of the Post. They'd also been photographed together at the restaurant. The headline had read: "Is there a Northman/Edgington Merger in the Works?".

Truth be told, the only one of those outings that Sookie had been truly jealous of was Gracie's recital. Otherwise, Sookie had found that she was not really green-eyed when it came to Isabel. Eric had decided to be completely upfront with Isabel about his and Sookie's relationship. Not surprisingly, Isabel hadn't had a problem with continuing to attend social events with Eric. And she'd been more than willing to help keep the charade in place for Appius so that Eric would face fewer questions.

And—when her own father, Russell Edgington, had asked her if she and Eric were moving toward matrimony, Isabel hadn't even needed to lie when she told him yes. The truth was that they would likely marry right before Eric's deadline. As comparatively progressive as Russell was, he, too, wanted for his daughter to get married and have children. And Eric and Isabel had a good friendship—one that Sookie recognized could be the base of a good, though perhaps not ideal, marriage.

Oh—Isabel and Sookie hadn't become bosom buddies or anything. Nor would they ever. However, Sookie had been able to tell immediately upon meeting Isabel that the woman cared for Eric as a friend. And, to Isabel, the presence of Sookie hadn't changed her and Eric's friendship. The brunette had been somewhat curious about why it was so important to Sookie and Eric to keep their relationship a secret, but—to her credit—she hadn't pushed for a detailed explanation.

Instead, she'd confessed that she still wasn't over Hugo, the man she'd been with in France. And she'd further confessed that she didn't think she'd ever be truly over him at all. Thus, her arrangement with Eric was beneficial to her too.

"You're upset," Eric said a little while later as Sookie leaned her back against his chest in the tub. "Is it because Isabel will be here tomorrow night?"

Sookie sighed. "No. It's not that. It's just that I know that the party tomorrow night is going to be difficult for you—because Appius will make it that way. And I wish I could be there for you—to stand by you."

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands on her belly. "I know. I feel the same way."

Neither of them spoke for a while as they enjoyed the closeness of their bodies, and—in truth—there was really nothing much to say. Things were as they were, and they'd both accepted that fact.

Thus far, Appius had no idea that Sookie existed. And the couple was doing their best not to let the threat of Eric's father interfere with their day-to-day existence. Indeed, they were trying to enjoy each moment of each day in the most ordinary way they could. But—truth be told—both of them were always a little nervous that their bubble would burst.

At Bobby's suggestion, Pam had helped out a lot by telling Appius—sometimes through Nora—exactly what they wanted for him to hear: that Eric and Isabel seemed to be moving toward an engagement, though there was no real love between them.

Of course, that was exactly what Appius wanted to hear too.

Sookie had thought that Pam was going to throw one of her designer shoes across the room the day Pam had told her about how Appius had reacted to the news that Eric was moving toward attaching himself to someone he didn't love. According to Pam, her father had looked momentarily gleeful before a practiced—and obviously fake—concerned look clouded his features. Pam had almost given away her ever-solidifying animosity toward her father by slapping him across the face. Luckily, she'd refrained.

At Bobby's urging, Pam had also begun to see Claudine for therapy. Pam had a lot of guilt over the way Eric had been treated. She felt guilt that she'd "missed" just how bad things were for her older brother. But, mostly, she felt something akin to "survivor's guilt" because she'd been treated so much better than he had. She also had conflicting feelings toward Appius, and Claudine was helping her to deal with those as well.

The one thing that Pam didn't feel conflicted about was helping her brother mislead Appius, and—for that—Sookie was glad.

Something had calmed a little inside of Eric when Pam chose his side over Appius's in the secret war being waged between them. A big part of Eric had truly believed that Pam would pull away from him—if he ever told her the truth about his treatment by their father.

Having suffered from abuse herself, Sookie could understand Eric's fears when it came to telling people about what had happened to him. After all, it had been ingrained in Eric not speak of his and Appius's "meetings"—even from the first time they had one when he was only a small child. Appius had told Eric that if he wanted to visit his grandparents at all, he wouldn't question his father's judgments. Of course, six-year-old Eric had wanted only to please his father, so he didn't tell. Thirty-one-year-old Eric was learning that talking about what had happened to him—with those whom he trusted—could be a positive thing.

Sookie turned off her mind a little and refocused on the movie as she played with Eric's quickly-puckering hands. She chuckled at the antics of the owners of the greyhound in the film, and she felt Eric relax behind her.

Soon, they were both laughing.

"Well—I think it's bullshit," Amelia said before she downed a shot of tequila. "Total and complete bullshit!"

Sookie sipped her own shot and was grateful that there had been only a half a bottle of the strong alcohol in the house. Though she liked the taste of the liquor, she had no desire to get drunk, and Amelia seemed like she was in the mood to do just that. Luckily, she didn't seem to be in the mood to go to the liquor store to get more tequila, so they were sipping on beers between shots.

"Yeah," Sookie agreed. "It is bullshit. But things are the way they are."

"But you love him!" Amelia insisted. "And if I know anything about anything, then I know he loves you too."

"He does, but it's not that simple, Ames," Sookie said, taking another sip of her drink before eating a segment of lime. Though the fruit was generally too sour for her to eat raw, it tasted nice with the tequila.

Amelia sighed. "I know there's more to the story than you've told me."

"There is," Sookie admitted. "But it's not my story to tell. It's Eric's."

"Surely his father would get over it if you two just eloped," Amelia said encouragingly. "Hell—stranger things have happened among the so-called elite of society."

"That can't happen," Sookie said in a quiet and quivering voice. "And I really need for you to not talk about it like it could—okay? I'm happy. Eric's happy. And we are going to stay happy for as long as we can. And I don't like dwelling on the fact that it'll have to end one day, so please, Ames," she begged, "drop it."

Amelia sighed, but nodded. For the most part, she liked the changes she'd seen happening in Sookie since she'd been with Eric, so she didn't want to push her friend. Amelia knew that Sookie was still going to therapy sessions once a week. She'd even joined a support group for the kids of abusive parents, which she also attended once a week. And it was clear that Sookie was now more confident. Amelia was certain that some of that was because of Eric, but she also recognized that Sookie had been on the path toward recovering from her mother's abuse even before she'd gotten together with Eric. It was just that Eric was helping Sookie to understand that she was loved and wanted. And Amelia worried that Sookie's recovery would be impaired if—when—their relationship ended.

Beyond all that, it was crystal clear to her that Eric and Sookie were crazy about each other! Several times, she'd been invited to have dinner with them at Eric's house in the city, and even a blind person could have seen how much they cared for each other and how compatible they were. In Amelia's mind, they were perfect together—except for their acceptance of the idea that they wouldn't be able to stay together.

Amelia took another shot.

Sookie smiled. "Now—tell me about Pam."

Amelia smiled widely. "Well—right now—we're really just having fun in the sack, but it's a lot of fun!"

Sookie blushed. "I still can't believe you two hooked up."

Amelia giggled. "What's not to believe? She's a beautiful woman. I like beautiful women. She was interesting and interested, and so was I."

"Just last month, you told me that you were going through a guy phase," Sookie reminded. "And that was while we were putting together dinner. And then right after that same dinner was over, you and Pam were on the terrace making out. Eric—by the way—told me to tell you that he's still having nightmares from catching you two 'topless and groping,'" she said, using air quotes to indicate Eric's exact words.

Amelia chuckled. "Well—that's what he gets for coming out onto his own terrace."

"Right," Sookie said sarcastically, drawing out the word. "So it's not serious?"

"Between me and Pam?" Amelia asked, looking momentarily wistful before reigning in her emotions. "No. I guess not. I mean—when we first got together—we talked about how neither one of us wanted anything serious. So it's kind of perfect—actually. And we're definitely not exclusive, so what I told you is true—mostly. I am going through a man phase—except for Pam."

"Well—as long as you two are on the same page," Sookie said thoughtfully.

Amelia smiled. "I like this—hanging out with you like this. It's weird that we didn't do as much hanging out when you actually lived here as we do now."

Sookie nodded in agreement. "I like it too. It's fun." She took another sip of her tequila and another lime wedge. Amelia was right; they did hang out more now than they had before, but that was partially because of Sookie's therapy. She'd been working on letting more people into her life—trustworthy people, of course. And she was making progress at being social. At work, she had lunch with Holly pretty much every day now, and—though the others in the office still didn't chat with her as they did with each other—they didn't treat her like a social pariah either. And Sookie was thankful with the détente she was experiencing with Arlene and the other "mean girls," as Pam called them.

And she genuinely enjoyed Holly's company and friendship. They'd even gotten after-work drinks together a couple of times. And that had been fun. Along with the others in her department, she'd been invited to Sam's 45th birthday party and had spoken at length with his wife, Luna, as well as with Holly. Again, it had been fun. For the first time in her life, Sookie had felt comfortable at a party—even without Eric by her side.

And then there was Pam, who had become a real friend to Sookie in the months that she and Eric had been together. When Eric had to work late, Pam often came up for a girl's night, which consisted of Pam devouring anything Sookie had cooked and then complaining about the calories before asking if there was any dessert. Of course, Sookie would feel guilty about Pam gaining weight if she'd gained any. Pam hadn't, however—unless a single pound counted. Still, she'd hired a personal trainer named Callipso—or, at least that was the name the woman went by. Sookie knew that Pam had a "thing" going on with Callipso, which was one of the reasons why she'd been a little worried until Amelia had said that things were casual between Pam and her.

Of course, Sookie was also worried about Bobby when it came to Pam. Sometimes he got a little "lost puppy" look in his eyes when he looked at her, but lately another of the people that she and Eric had started inviting over—Thalia—had begun to capture Bobby's interest. And Sookie couldn't help but to hope that worked out. She couldn't think of two people who deserved happiness more than Thalia and Bobby.

Amelia poured herself another shot and frowned at the quickly emptying bottle. "You know—I think that Pam might be someone I could have something long-term with. But it just doesn't seem like the right time for that—for either of us. But who knows what might happen in the future—right? I mean—if she agreed to it—I think I'd even be willing to try something exclusive with her." She sighed.

"You like her a lot," Sookie ventured.

"I like her more than anyone I've been with for a long time—maybe ever," Amelia admitted quietly. "I just don't know if she feels the same. And I honestly don't know if I want a commitment—ever!" She chuckled. "I know that kind of makes me sound like a bitch, but it's the truth." She paused. "Plus, I figure that if I told Pam that I was interested in an exclusive relationship right now, she would run for the hills." She took a breath. "No. I think that the best plan is to wait until I know more what my own feelings are before I confuse what we have. Meanwhile, we'll just have fun."

Sookie nodded even though she didn't really understand how Amelia could have feelings—even the beginnings of feelings—for one person and then go out with others too. Of course, Sookie understood the concept of "playing the field," but it wasn't something she could really "get." Even with Bill, she'd never even thought about being with someone else while she'd been with him. And with Eric, the impulse of being with him—and only him—was exponentially greater.

Of course, Eric had certainly played the field before; in fact, he'd played the whole stadium, given the number of partners he'd had! However, he'd never had a relationship before, and Sookie knew that he was feeling what she was feeling as far as the desire for monogamy went.

She chuckled.

"What is it?" Amelia asked.

"Oh—I was just thinking about Eric and monogamy."

"What's funny about that?"

"He told me when we first got together that he'd surprised himself by falling into monogamy so quickly. I'm pretty sure he's still a little surprised by us; I know I still am."

Amelia giggled and hiccupped. "Surprised by Monogamy sounds like a crappy band name."

Sookie joined her in a laugh.


	64. Subterfuge

Chapter 64: Subterfuge

Appius leaned forward and poured Nora and himself glasses of scotch from the limousine's wet bar. Andre had already taken care of getting Sophie-Anne a drink. And the two siblings were gossiping about some new scandal or another, but since it didn't involve anyone he had an interest in, Appius turned to speak to Nora.

"The Faemans will meet us there," he said.

Nora sighed. "I know I said I would help you with anything, Daddy, and I will," she said in a low tone. "But this deal with China is really good for the company. I've seen the numbers and the projections, and it's not something we should screw up for Eric—or NP."

"I realize that," Appius said, dragging a hand through his hair. He shook his head. "I have to hand it to the boy on this deal," he said as if giving any compliment to Eric pained him. "It is going to make the company a lot of money."

"That's why I think we should play nice tonight and leave the Faemans out of it. I'd hate for the Chinese to back out of the deal, and a bunch of questions from lawyers—especially lawyers that haven't been involved with the deal's structuring—could get," she paused, "awkward."

"The Chinese won't back out," Appius said with an almost sinister smile on his lips. "I have made an arrangement with the owner of Guangzhou Press."

"What arrangement?" Nora asked.

"Just a slight alteration to the language of the contract that was slipped in at the last minute."

"Daddy, I don't think it's a good idea for you to involve yourself in Eric's part of the company," she said cautiously. "If you are so certain that he means you harm, why rile him up?"

Appius waved his hand, somewhat dismissively. "It was nothing—really. In fact, I used the slight modification only as an excuse to speak with the head of Guangzhou Press personally. You know how the Chinese are about respect," he said somewhat judgmentally. "So—I simply contacted my counterpart to express how honored I was that our companies were forming an alliance. Hell! The fact of the matter is that I helped the deal along—when Eric was faltering!"

"Oh," Nora said with acceptance as she took a sip of her drink. "Well—it makes sense that the head of their company would want to speak with you personally."

"Yes." Appius patted her arm. "Plus, I don't plan on pushing things too far tonight—just far enough to distract Eric so that you can slip out of the party and do what we discussed. God only knows what Eric is hiding from us, and I haven't been able to get eyes or ears into his house."

"If he finds the bug, he'll be furious," Nora said in barely a whisper so that Andre and Sophie-Anne couldn't hear her. She wasn't sure what all they knew and didn't want to take any chances—especially where Sophie-Anne was concerned. "I mean—are you sure you need to bug Eric's home? You already monitor him at the office—right?"

Appius took a drink. "I know how you feel, darling." He sighed. "And you know that I don't want to have to spy on Eric. But I feel it is necessary. And—after all—we're putting a bug only in his office. That's not really going to affect his privacy—now is it? It'll just help me to keep an eye on the kind of business he is conducting from his home. And—even then—I'll only be able to hear him."

Appius sighed and continued. "It is too bad that we cannot put a spyware program onto his computer. But that wouldn't be feasible—at least not today," he said thoughtfully.

Nora's brow furrowed.

Appius smiled. "And—as I said before—perhaps being able to hear Eric's phone conversations and such will be enough. Yes," he added, patting her hand again, "I truly hope it will be enough."

Nora sighed, but nodded. She had mixed feelings about her father spying on her stepbrother, but she knew that doing so would help to alleviate some of her father's stress.

She tapped her foot against the limo floor somewhat nervously. She'd been in the "private part" of Eric's house only two times. The first had been when Pam took her up to show her the closet she'd designed for Eric. At the time, the place hadn't even been fully finished yet, but she'd peeked around enough to know that the room beyond Eric's sitting area was to be an office. The second time had been when Pam and she went up to enjoy the sauna that Eric had put into his home. However, Nora had gotten the distinct impression that her extremely private stepbrother had been somewhat perturbed at Pam for taking her into his home without asking him first, and Nora had not been invited back—except for business parties.

She sighed. Maybe Eric did have secrets.

She moved her hand slightly to touch her handbag. In it were her usual necessities—and a high tech listening device her father had gotten from one of Stan's connections.

"Do not worry," Appius whispered as he looked at what she was touching. "I have been assured that it is easy to place."

She nodded and took another drink.

Since her father had told her about his first wife's betrayal, Nora had kept a cautious eye on Eric at the office. But she'd not seen anything out of the ordinary with his work. The only thing that could have been considered abnormal about his behavior was that the office gossip hadn't been buzzing about his sleeping with any random women lately. In fact, he seemed to be near the point of becoming engaged to Isabel Edgington. Nora scoffed a little. She'd never much cared for Isabel, but she knew her father approved of the match, and the Edgington family was certainly equal in clout to the Northmans. And with Isabel being an only child, the Edgington empire would pass to her—and, therefore, to the Northmans—if she and Eric married.

"What's the matter?" Appius asked perceptively, patting his stepdaughter's hand fondly.

"Nothing, Daddy. I just don't want to have to make nice with Isabel." She pouted a little.

Appius smiled indulgently at his favorite child. "I know. She is a bore, but let Sophie-Anne deal with her. You have a more important job to do tonight than trying to make nice with Isabel."

Nora smiled as Appius patted her hand again. Her smile faltered a little, however, as she looked out the window and saw that they were nearing Eric's building. There was a part of her that thought that what her father was doing was wrong, but she had determined to help him nonetheless.

In truth, she was concerned about her father's stress level, and she'd noticed that he'd been drinking more lately. He was so worried that Eric was somehow playing him—that he was hiding something. But most of all, her father just wanted to be assured that Eric didn't know anything about the provision in John Northman's Will that would force Appius to give Eric all of his NP stock—as well as a lot of money—if he didn't make Eric the CEO of the company before the deadline. Nora sighed again. She couldn't begrudge her father for wanting that peace of mind.

She had thought a lot about what her father had told her concerning his first wife and his decades-long belief that Eric was another man's son. Looking back, Nora could recall evidence of her father treating Eric differently from his other children, but she'd never really given much thought to the disparity at the time. Like everyone else, she'd simply thought that Eric was peculiar and quiet—sullen even. She'd not minded him, however. And—as he grew from a gangly boy to a handsome young man—she'd even developed quite a crush on him.

More than that, however, since they'd both been working at NP, she would even call him her friend—despite the fact that their try at a relationship was a disaster.

A few years before, Nora had decided that she wanted Eric romantically because he was—for lack of a better word—hot! And not just physically either. He was a hot commodity in the New York social scene! Plus, if she had married him, she would have become a Northman—officially. So she'd tried things out with Eric. At first, she thought it might even work. He'd taken her out to expensive restaurants and social events, and she'd enjoyed being on the arm of such a sought-after man. She'd liked being the envy of so many people.

Kissing him had been awkward, however—mostly because he seemed so nervous about the whole thing. And then when they'd tried to have sex, he was clearly not into it in any way. Disappointingly—even when she'd tried to arouse him with her hand and then her mouth—his cock had stayed flaccid.

Impressive! But totally useless!

To put them both out of their misery, she'd finally stopped trying to stir and stiffen him up. His lack of interest had been quite the blow to her ego, but she couldn't blame him too much. He simply couldn't stop seeing her as a sibling, and—though the taboo factor had been part of the allure for her—it had clearly not been the same for him.

Ironically, after their misadventures as a couple, they'd actually become closer—sharing a funny story if nothing else—though they still weren't incredibly close. But they were certainly cordial to each other, and Eric had been and continued to be a big fucking help to her at work! Nora was well aware that she probably ought not to be CFO of Northman Publishing, and Eric had bailed her out of tight spots more than once—the most recent being only a week before. And he'd never lorded that knowledge over her or threatened to tell Appius that she wasn't up to par.

She sighed and took another drink. Despite her misgivings, she would help her father by planting the bug. After all, if Eric didn't have anything to conceal, it wouldn't make any difference that their father was listening. And—if she was right about Eric's behavior being above board—then he wouldn't be hurt at all. And her father could rest more easily.

It would be a win-win situation for everyone involved.

Thalia made a great effort to smile innocuously as she took Sophie-Anne Leclerq-Northman's cloak, though why the woman needed a fur cloak in September was beyond Thalia.

As if reading her mind, Henry gave his sister a little wink before marking Appius Northman and his party off of his list of expected guests. In fact, they were the last to arrive and had come with two additional "guests," Neave and Lochlan Faeman, whom Rasul had contacted him about as they were checking in at the front desk. Eric had not been pleased when Henry told him about the surprise arrivals, but he'd not blocked their entry either. Instead, Eric had pulled Bobby Burnham aside and had a private word with him. After a few head nods—they'd both gone back to the party.

Henry and Thalia shared a look as Appius said something snide about the painting in the foyer. It seemed that the unpleasant elder Northman thought that the painting should be in the family estate since it had belonged to his grandmother—Eric's great-grandmother. Appius told his captive audience that his grandmother had left it to Eric only because she was suffering from dementia when she wrote her Will.

Henry just rolled his eyes. One thing was certain. Appius Northman was an asshole!

Thankfully, Henry hadn't had to deal with Appius much; however, he knew that Eric and Sookie were hiding their relationship from Eric's father. Henry also knew that Appius had sent one of his people to try to spy on Eric quite a few times over the past several years. Actually, he'd sent two people—Sigebert and Wybert Deneuve. But Henry thought of them as one; after all, they seemed to have only one brain between them!

The Deneuve brothers were identical twins right down to the tattoos they sported on their forearms. A few times, one or the other of them had even tried to sneak into his building, but Henry had no time for that kind of shit!

In fact, one of the "Berts" had almost gotten to experience a prosthetic foot up his ass when he tried to enter the tower posing as an air-conditioning repairman. Henry scoffed. There's no way he would have graced the "Bert" with his real foot! Unfortunately, the hulk of a man hadn't resisted when Henry tossed his ass out onto the sidewalk. Indeed, Henry would have enjoyed dealing with a little resistance.

If there was one thing the head of security didn't appreciate, it was others trying to find out the business of the people in the building he protected. Henry took that shit personally! And—whether it be paparazzi members or piss-ants like the "Berts"—Henry wasn't one to tolerate riffraff anywhere near his building.

Henry sighed. As far as he and his well-chosen crew were concerned, Eric and Sookie were at the top of the list of people they wanted to shield. Unlike some of the snobby suits that occupied Carmichael Tower and felt that they were entitled to something "extra" because of the width of their wallets, Eric Northman had always treated Henry's entire crew with respect. Added to that, Eric had done Henry a favor by hiring Thalia, who had wanted to avoid a job in security or on the police force because her husband had died in the line of duty. After her multiple tours overseas, Thalia had wanted to spend her time raising her kids, and working for Eric gave her the money she needed to live on so that she could tuck away her deceased husband's pension into her kids' college funds.

Henry smirked. And—of course—another reason why he liked Eric was the Pop-Tarts! Henry didn't know a lot of people who would keep their pantries stocked with processed treats so that the building's head of security could sneak up and pilfer them in order to hide his junk food addiction from his health-nut of a husband. But Eric Northman had done just that.

The addition of Sookie had made Eric even more liked—and envied—by the people on Henry's crew. Not a week went by that she didn't bring them a batch of cookies or a cake that she'd made. Or—even better—a pie or cobbler! Even Blake couldn't resist those! Hell—the peach cobbler she'd brought to the desk the week before would have had her waist-deep in marriage proposals if she wasn't so clearly taken.

Of course, Henry's crush ran more toward Eric Northman himself, though he was content with just appreciating the view. In truth, Henry was even more content with his own husband, who was also helping with security for the party.

Yeah—Blake was most certainly the love of Henry's life, but Eric Northman was not bad to ogle, and he was also becoming a good friend. Hell—he'd been at Sookie and Eric's house just three days before for a poker night with Eric, Bobby Burnham, Blake, Thalia, and Tray, along with two guys who worked guard duty at the MET, Ben and Milos. Eric had hosted several such poker nights during the last couple of months, and Sookie always made sure that there was something good baked, though they'd order pizza for dinner.

Not liking poker—though she had tried it once—Sookie would hang out with her friends Amelia and Claudine while the poker players trash-talked, drank beer, and ate too much. They were fun nights.

A few times, Eric's sister, Pam, whom Henry still thought of as the dragon lady, had joined them for poker—though lately she'd been more interested in Amelia than the cards. But Henry didn't mind that. When Pam was concentrating of her card-playing, none of the rest of them had a chance in hell of winning!

From having knowledge of the comings and goings, as well as the guests, of every resident in his building for over four years, Henry knew that things like the poker night were "new" for Eric Northman, who had never seemed to have many friends before—despite the fact that he was on the top tier of New York society.

What Henry appreciated most was that Eric didn't imagine that he was better than working stiffs like himself and his crew. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Eric treated them like honored guests—like he was working hard to make sure they had a good time.

Yeah—it was safe to say that Henry liked Eric and Sookie more and more with each visit he made to their home.

As head of security, Henry would station one guard in the residence whenever any of the people in the tower had a party. But Henry had never done this duty himself. However, he felt strangely protective over Eric—and especially Sookie. He'd decided early on that Sookie Stackhouse was a special individual. In a lot of ways, she seemed as shell-shocked as many of the people he'd seen after battle. Like them, however, she was just as strong as she was vulnerable.

And he'd quickly developed an almost brotherly desire to protect her.

It was clear, also, that Sookie and Thalia had become friends, and Thalia didn't have many friends, given her own struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder. Henry looked over at his sister and smiled at her. He was so proud of her. She'd been a great Navy officer during a time when women were just starting to get their real due. He knew that she had flown into some places that were hell on earth. But she'd made it out of them, and she'd saved others' lives in the process.

Henry looked back toward the lounge and could see that Appius Northman was now talking with the highest executive from the Chinese group, Mr. Li. From the look on Mr. Li's face, the words being spewed by the elder Northman were somewhat surprising and unwelcome, but Appius didn't seem to notice. Henry shook his head. Just as he'd figured it would, the tension in the house had risen about a hundred percent after Appius got there. And it wasn't likely to subside until the elder Northman left.

Henry rolled his eyes toward Thalia again, wondering why Appius didn't just leave the business deal to his son, with whom the Chinese delegation was obviously more comfortable working. Henry didn't know "nothing about nothing" when it came to running a multi-billion dollar company, but what he did know was that tension was bad in any high-stakes situation. And even he could see that Appius was sticking his nose where it didn't belong—for no other purpose than to just be an asshole.

Of course, Henry couldn't much do anything about the business situation, but when Nora Gainesborough approached and turned as if she were going to go down the hall to Sookie and Eric's bedroom, Henry could do something. And he did.

"Sorry, Miss Gainesborough," Henry said in a firm, though polite tone. He'd used that tone many times in the military when telling his superior officers things that they didn't want to hear. "No one's allowed in that part of the house this evening."

Nora scoffed a little. "I'm Mr. Northman's sister," she said, managing to look down her nose at Henry even though she was quite a bit shorter than he was.

"Be that as it may," Henry said resolutely, "we've been told to make sure no one moves beyond the area designated for this evening's party."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss him. "I just want to use Eric's bathroom to powder my nose," she said, even as she glanced over her shoulder somewhat nervously.

Henry didn't miss the fact that Appius was looking right back at her from the lounge, and he also looked very displeased.

"The washroom's right through there, Miss Gainesborough," Henry said inflexibly as he pointed toward the guest bathroom.

Nora glared at him but then turned away and went back to the party. Neither Henry nor Thalia missed the look that passed between Nora and Appius.

As soon as Nora was gone, Henry texted Blake, who joined them in the foyer a few moments later with Bobby Burnham in tow. Leaving the more-than-capable Thalia to make sure that no one tried to go into the rest of the house again, Henry gestured for Bobby and Blake to follow him into the guest bedroom.

"What do you think?" Henry asked after telling Blake and Bobby about Nora's somewhat suspicious behavior—and about the fishy look that had passed between her and Appius.

"I think they're up to something," Blake said, his detective gears spinning.

"Me too," Bobby sighed. "And I want to know what it is. If we find out, we could use it to help Eric."

Bobby pulled out his cell phone and texted Eric, who joined them about two minutes later.

"Make it quick," Eric said, obviously a little stressed out. "I need to keep an eye on Appius."

Henry quickly brought Eric up to speed.

"We should let Nora through," Bobby said to Eric. "We should see what she does."

Eric looked at Bobby with narrowed eyes and spoke in a hushed voice. "If she goes into the master bedroom or bathroom, she'll be able to tell someone lives with me."

Bobby ran his hand through his hair. "Let me take care of that. If I know Sookie, she doesn't leave a lot of traces of herself behind—right?"

Eric looked at him and spoke evenly. "Neither of us do."

Bobby nodded in understanding. "Give me ten minutes. Then talk to Nora and tell her that you saw her confrontation with Henry. Be apologetic about it; even berate Henry a little if need be. And then let her have free reign."

"They can't find out about Sookie," Eric said in a strained voice.

"Don't worry. They won't," Bobby promised.

Eric nodded and left to rejoin the party.

"Henry, Blake—I need your help," Bobby said as he slipped through the "secret passage" from the guest room to the living area where the piano was located.

Both men nodded and followed Bobby, who looked around the large living area as he walked through it; the space was neat and tidy, and there was nothing that indicated that a woman was a resident in the home. Bobby quickly led them through Eric's office and into the sitting room. Bobby looked around quickly.

"The library books," he pointed. "They might not believe that Eric would have those on his own."

"Where do you want them?" Blake asked.

"The guest room we were just in has a large closet. Put everything in there. While Nora's in this part of the house, I'll stay in there—just in case she tries to snoop in that part of the house too."

Blake nodded, quickly picked up the large stack of library books, and rushed toward the other end of the house.

Bobby then went into the bedroom and did a quick assessment. There were a couple of pictures on what he assumed was Sookie's nightstand and a woman's robe on the bed as well as a couple more library books. He grabbed those items and then walked into the bathroom. There, he quickly picked up anything that looked like it belonged to a female and wrapped it into one of Eric's large towels.

"Okay—just the closet left," he said to Henry.

The head of security nodded in understanding and hurried to the closet, where he saw a rack of women's clothing to the right. Sookie didn't have much as far as clothes went, so he was able to get most of the rack in one trip, though he gave instructions to Blake as they passed each other. Henry had found a large empty Tupperware tub in the guestroom closet and had brought it with him.

It took the three men only six minutes to eliminate any trace of Sookie from the rooms that she had been spending her life in.

The three took one last look around the rooms before Bobby took out his phone. Quickly, he set his phone to record video and put it in the master bedroom, placing it slightly behind the lamp on Eric's nightstand so that it could record what Nora did in the room without being seen. Catching on, Blake used his phone to do something similar in the sitting room. And Henry set up his phone in Eric's office.

"We can count on those only recording about 15—or maybe 20—minutes of video each before they run out of memory," Blake said.

"It'll be enough to tell us where she went," Bobby said.

After one more look around, Blake slipped out onto the balcony through Eric's bedroom, making sure the door was locked securely behind him, while Bobby went to the guest bedroom and Henry went back to the foyer.

A few minutes later, a seemingly upset Eric returned to the foyer with Nora in tow. Henry glanced behind the two and saw that Appius was watching—with great interest—from the lounge.

Eric approached Henry somewhat aggressively. "My sister tells me that you wouldn't let her use the goddamned bathroom," he seethed quietly.

Henry narrowed his eyes. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Eric was really angry at him. AND an asshole.

"Yes sir," Henry responded with a hint of animosity—just enough to sell the scene. "You indicated earlier that no one should pass into the private areas of the house."

Eric sighed as if frustrated. "My sisters are free to go wherever they wish—okay? And Bobby Burnham too."

Henry nodded stiffly. "Yes sir."

Nora had a satisfied look on her face. "Thanks, Eric." She rose up as if to kiss him on his cheek, but gave him an air kiss instead. "I just want to powder my nose in peace. And you know I don't like to use a bathroom where a lot of others have been."

Eric smiled down at his stepsister, and Henry was again impressed by his friend's acting ability.

"Of course. Help yourself." He gave her an actual kiss on the cheek and then turned around to rejoin the party. Meanwhile, Nora looked at Henry in triumph and then went toward the master bedroom suite.


	65. Shaking

Chapter 65: Shaking

"But if our hopes are betrayed, if we are forced to resist the invasion of our soil, and to defend our threatened homes, this duty, however hard it may be, will find us armed and resolved upon the greatest sacrifices."—King Albert II

"Hey, are you alright?" Isabel asked in a quiet voice, taking Eric's hand in hers when she saw that Appius was looking at them.

"Ask me tomorrow around this time," Eric said quietly, speaking into Isabel's ear.

The brunette giggled as if Eric had just told her the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "At least Mr. Li no longer seems to be listening to Appius," she whispered back.

He laughed a little, though Isabel could see no mirth in his eyes.

Luckily, however, to anyone looking at them—and Appius was—it seemed as if the two were having an intimate, light-hearted conversation.

"That is something," Eric said before kissing Isabel on the cheek.

Pam walked over to them. "Hey," she whispered, "I think that the Faeman twins are starting to creep out Liang."

Eric looked over at Liang Chen, the person with whom he'd worked the most from the Chinese delegation. Pam was right. It seemed as if Neave and Lochlan were cross-examining Liang. Eric gave Pam a nod and walked over to "save" his colleague from his father's lapdogs.

Thankfully—despite Appius and his lawyers creating a bit of unnecessary tension—neither Liang nor his boss, Guo Li, seemed overly concerned. Earlier that evening, Eric had mentioned to Liang that Appius might try to quibble over elements of the contract. And Eric was certain that Liang had passed that information onto his superior.

However, there wasn't anything Appius could do. The document had already been signed before Appius arrived. Moreover, both Liang and Guo Li knew that Eric had full authority when it came to their dealings.

Thankfully, Guo Li seemed unperturbed by Appius, and Liang was simply nodding politely to the lawyers.

Less than ten minutes after she left the party, Nora returned to the gray lounge area. From his position, Eric could see her give Appius a little nod before moving to speak with Sophie-Anne and Andre. Eric made sure that he kept his eyes averted from the group when he felt Appius's eyes turn to him. The gaze of his father always seemed to burn into him. But Eric kept his countenance steady as he chatted with Liang about the influx of American restaurants in China.

Eric took a deep breath, knowing that he'd have to endure Appius's presence for only another half hour or so before the cocktail party broke up. He looked around the room and quickly assessed whether the eight members of the Chinese delegation were mixing well with his team from Northman Publishing. Overall, it was a relatively small party; in fact, there had been only twenty-five people in attendance before Appius and his group got there. Not wanting to overwhelm the numbers of the delegation from Guangzhou Press, Eric had invited only nine other people from his own department, and several of them had brought their spouses, which lent a casual air to the cocktail party. The purpose of the party was to twofold: first, to celebrate the signing of the contract; and, second, to help foster fidelity between the two teams, which would be interacting with each other a lot via conference calls and emails.

Especially before Appius arrived, the event had been a great success. As with all of Eric's cocktail parties, Pam had done the planning and had chosen the hors d'oeuvres perfectly, and the small wait-staff Eric had hired was doing a good job keeping everyone happy. Indeed, the teams seemed to be mixing quite well, and the "business" relationships that they'd already forged were becoming "collegial" as well.

Eric noticed the moment when Guo Li nodded politely to Appius and withdrew from his company. Eric sent up a quick prayer that Appius hadn't done anything to offend the distinguished businessman. As always, Appius had found and then monopolized the time of the individual that he'd deemed the "most important" in the room—other than himself, of course.

Eric gave Mr. Li a nod as he approached. Though he'd worked out most of the details of the deal with Liang, Mr. Li was more his direct counterpart in Guangzhou Press. He was in charge of his company's dealings with North and South America.

"Your home is very lovely, Mr. Northman," Mr. Li said in perfect English. Eric had quickly learned that everyone he worked with from Guangzhou Press spoke English impeccably, though they all had the expected accents except for Liang, who had spent ten years in the United States when his parents moved to California so that he would have the opportunity to attend an American university.

"Thank you," Eric said.

"I would enjoy seeing the view from your terrace—if I may," Mr. Li requested politely.

"Of course," Eric said as he led Mr. Li out to see the view.

"Ah," Mr. Li said as they got outside. "Yes. This is a lovely view. It is nice seeing something other than buildings."

Eric nodded his agreement.

"Your father is an interesting man," Mr. Li said evenly after a few moments of quiet contemplation.

Eric nodded. From his studies of Chinese culture, he knew that elders were afforded a great deal of respect. "Yes," Eric said. "He is a very successful publisher and Northman Publishing has grown considerably since he took it over from his own father."

"And you carry on his legacy," Guo nodded approvingly.

There was a beat before Eric spoke. "It has always been my desire to help make Northman Publishing even stronger so that my family's company will flourish well into the future. I can only hope to run the business as well as my father has," Eric said sincerely.

Mr. Li nodded. "You speak well of your father." The distinguished businessman looked out over the water before looking back at Eric. "However, I do not think it will surprise you to learn that he does not speak kindly of you."

Eric forced himself not to tense up. "I am still working to earn my father's approval," he answered evenly. "Sometimes—such things take time."

"Hmmm. In China, parents often have a great many hopes and expectations for their children. My child, a daughter, is in her first year at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology."

"You must be very proud. I believe that is an excellent university."

"One of China's best," Guo smiled. "But even if she were not distinguishing herself as a student and even if she were not surpassing my hopes for her, I would still not speak ill of her publicly—especially not in the presence of those with whom she works. And I certainly wouldn't speak ill of her if she had just initiated and perfectly orchestrated a lucrative deal for my company—a deal that was completed because of her. Because of only her," he added meaningfully.

Mr. Li continued. "After you approached us, our company had offers from several other American publishing houses, Mr. Northman."

Eric nodded. "Given the profits to be made, I am not surprised." Eric was a little surprised that he'd not heard of the potential deals with other companies before. Mr. Li could have used the threat of aligning Guangzhou Press with other companies in order to strengthen his own position during negotiations. The fact that he hadn't told Eric all he needed to know about Mr. Li's character—and he respected him all the more.

"Do you know why I chose Northman Publishing despite the fact that a deal with Felipe de Castro and Vegas Publishing would bring my company higher profits?" Mr. Li asked.

"No," Eric responded.

"There is only one reason. I chose based on the honor I sensed in the individual I would be working with, and that person is you. As you said earlier, Appius Northman is a successful businessman, but had he been the one we were to work with, I would have chosen de Castro," Mr. Li emphasized.

Eric bowed a little. "You pay me a great compliment, Mr. Li."

"You must call me Guo. It is appropriate to address trusted business associates by their given names in the United States—is it not?"

"Yes," Eric responded. "Please, call me Eric."

Guo nodded and looked into the window. He saw his group mingling easily with Eric's group. Appius was speaking with Andre, Neave, and Lochlan now. "Our teams will work well together, Eric," he said with certainty. "This has been a successful trip," he indicated. "And I already look forward to your visit to China in February."

"As do I," Eric indicated.

Guo looked back out over the river. "Please invite your team to bring their families with them when you come."

"Thank you, Guo," Eric said, knowing that by extending the invitation to include families, Guo was indicating his desire to solidify their relationship as colleagues and friends.

"That invitation does not include your interesting father," Guo said. "It is you that we work with."

"I understand," Eric said, a little surprised by Guo's directness.

"Good. And feel free to bring your lovely companion, Miss Edgington. My wife would enjoy showing her around."

Eric tensed slightly, something that was not missed by the perceptive Mr. Li.

"I doubt that Isabel could get away," Eric said, "but I will make sure she knows that she is welcome, and I hope that you will bring your families too during your next visit here."

Guo gazed at Eric through somewhat narrowed eyes as if he were trying to figure out the younger man with a single look. "My wife will be happy to hear of that," he said finally.

Eric nodded.

"I'm afraid that my delegation and I must be returning to our hotel. Our flight leaves tomorrow in the evening, and I have promised my team that we will sight-see tomorrow morning."

Eric smiled. "Yes, Liang indicated that you might wish to see some of the sights in New York. I have arranged for a small sight-seeing van to be at your hotel at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. The driver is a trained tour guide and will take you and your team anywhere you wish to go. After that, he will take you back to your hotel and then drive you to the airport."

Guo nodded appreciatively. "You have been a generous host, Eric."

"Thank you."

Guo turned to go inside, but then stopped as he saw Appius looking out at them. Guo turned to face Eric again. The younger Northman's eyes were momentarily trapped by his father's glare.

"He looks at you as if you were a hated enemy," Guo commented with disapproval.

"I'm not his enemy," Eric said in a low voice as he pulled his eyes from his father's to Guo's. "Or—at least—I have never wanted to be his enemy."

"No," Guo said thoughtfully. "I can tell that you do not wish to be his enemy." He stepped toward Eric, essentially blocking Appius from the younger man's line of sight. "However, he will make you one if he does not learn to recognize his chief business asset—even if he cannot take pride in the gift of a child."

Eric was stumped about what to say to that comment.

"We will speak soon," Guo said reaching out to shake Eric's hand.

"Yes," Eric responded, giving Guo a respectful nod before following him back inside.

At a single look from Guo, Liang gathered up the group from China. After a few short goodbyes, the whole delegation was ready to go.

After they'd gone, Eric met with his own team for a couple of minutes to make sure that there were no complaints or problems with their counterparts. Then they left too.

As soon as the elevators closed behind the last of Eric's people, Appius spoke loudly. "It seems to me," he criticized, "that you cowed down to Mr. Li like some kind of supplicant! The Chinese should be grateful for our business—not the other way around!"

"Showing respect is a big thing in Chinese culture, Father," Eric said evenly. "And Mr. Li is an important man in his company."

"You'd think the president of the company would have made the trip if he viewed this deal as important enough—though, perhaps, he does not view it as such," he said, looking down his nose at Eric.

"Perhaps you are right," Eric said emotionlessly.

Isabel came up next to Eric and placed her hand on his arm. "Well, they were all nice enough," she smiled, obviously trying to bring down the tension between father and son. "And my father always says that opening new markets around the world is good business."

Appius's expression softened a little as he looked at Isabel. "And how is Russell? I've not seen him in a while."

"He's well. He asked that I tell you hello and said that you two should get together for a drink at the club soon."

Thankfully, after Isabel had taken charge of the conversation, the topics shifted away from business. It wasn't long before Appius decided to take his leave, and that—of course—meant that his little "posse" would follow.

"Walk us out, Pam," Nora requested. "We brought the school pictures Gracie sent you."

Eric didn't allow himself to react to Nora's words. Every Christmas since Gracie had been in school she'd asked him if he'd gotten the pictures she sent. He always lied. He knew that Tamara always sent a large packet of pictures to Appius's house. He also knew that Pam received an envelope full each year because he'd seen hers. But Appius—of course—had never felt the need to pass along anything that Gracie might have sent to him. And Eric didn't want to trouble Tamara by asking her to send his separately.

"Did you bring Eric's too?" Pam asked, keeping her voice smooth. "I could bring those up with me when I come back."

Eric wanted to shoot Pam a warning look, but he kept his countenance blank.

"I don't recall Eric getting an envelope this year," Appius said somewhat snidely, but not so much that it was overly noticeable. "I imagine Tamara sent the pictures here if she thought he'd want copies of them. Have you gotten anything yet?" he asked Eric, the slightest of smirks on his lips.

"No," Eric answered simply.

"Oh well," Nora said seemingly oblivious to her father's cruel jab, "I'm sure they'll arrive soon. We only got ours earlier this week."

Eric nodded. "Yes. You're probably right."

Henry had—thankfully—already called the elevator, and Appius, Sophie-Anne, Nora, Andre, Neave, Lochlan, and Pam got on board.

There was a collective sigh of relief as soon as the doors closed.

"So," Isabel said looking around the foyer, "are we all that's left?"

Eric also looked around the room. Only Bobby, Henry, and Thalia remained—other than Isabel and himself.

"Yes," Bobby said somewhat tensely. "The kitchen staff finished up while Eric met with his people. They took off about fifteen minutes ago."

"Well—it's late," Isabel said as Henry recalled the elevator for her. She kissed Eric lightly on the cheek. "And I have plans," she added with a wink.

"Thanks for doing this," Eric whispered, gesturing back toward the gray lounge.

"Any time," Isabel said, patting his arm.

Eric smiled at Isabel as she stepped onto the elevator, but his smile dropped when he saw the expressions on the faces of the people around him once she was gone. Everyone in the foyer looked almost ill, and Henry brought his index finger to his lips signaling that Eric should be quiet.

Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he looked over to see that Bobby had just texted him from the same room. Bobby motioned for Eric to answer, and he quickly looked at the text, which read: "Nora bugged your office—at least. The foyer is not bugged, but the lounge could be. Blake will be back soon with a device that will determine whether there are other listening devices."

Eric closed his eyes tightly and then threw his phone against the metal elevator doors.

"Do you want a drink?" Bobby asked quietly as everyone took in the sight of Eric's mangled phone.

Eric shook his head and walked down the hall to his sitting room. The first thing he noticed was that the library books he and Sookie had picked up the week before were not on the table. They'd been reading The Count of Monte Cristo aloud together, and he knew he'd left it turned downward to mark their spot. The room looked strange—empty—without the books scattered about.

He glanced toward the closet, and the breath immediately left his body. All of Sookie's clothing had been removed; in fact, he saw no trace of her. Bobby had even moved some of his own things to her side of the closet. Eric sank down onto his knees as if someone had punched him in the gut.

Trying not to make a noise, he buried his face in his hands. They were shaking. In fact, he felt as if his whole body were shaking. He fast-forwarded in his mind. One day, she would be leaving. She would be leaving because he was so fucking powerless that he couldn't find a way to keep her. Her presence in his home would become just a memory—a slip of time that had slipped away. A moment of light to compare to all the dark.

And suddenly, his house—a place that had felt like his safe haven for so long—had been invaded. He'd loved it there—especially since Sookie had warmed it and made it a home.

But Appius had reached right inside and had taken away one more thing he'd loved.

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet a few moments later and then went into the closet, grabbing his things hanging on Sookie's rack and moving them back to his side. At least if it was empty, then it was waiting for her to come back.

"Eric?" Bobby said quietly, venturing into the room. Eric turned and glared at Bobby before pulling his overnight bag from the closet shelf. He quickly threw a change of clothes into it and then pointed toward the table in the sitting room.

"Guest room," Bobby mouthed.

Eric nodded and practically shoved Bobby out of his way as he rushed out of the room. He avoided going through the office and went back through the foyer where Thalia and Henry still stood. He didn't say a word to anyone as he went into the guest bedroom and looked around for Sookie's things. He found them in the closet.

"Eric? Do you need to talk?" Bobby asked as he followed him in and closed the door to the bathroom/closet area.

Eric looked at him in question.

"I was in here while Nora was loose in the house, so I know this room is safe," he said in a low tone. "And Thalia's initial assessment of the bug in your office is that it can monitor only conversations in that room." He paused. "And since neither Appius nor Nora came anywhere near this room, it's okay to talk in here."

Eric nodded. "I have to get out of here. I have to go to her."

Bobby nodded. "I already texted Sookie to let her know what's going on. She's expecting you."

Eric picked up the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo which had been stacked with the other library books.

"Everything will be back in place by tomorrow, Eric," Bobby said quietly. "I promise."

"I need every goddamned bug in this place gone," Eric said, sounding a little defeated.

"I'm coming for breakfast in Brooklyn tomorrow. Sookie told me to be there at 8:00," Bobby said. "We'll talk about it then."

Eric nodded and quickly left the room.


	66. Come What May

Chapter 66: Come What May

Sookie paced back and forth in Amelia's living room. Bobby had texted her even before he told Eric that Nora had placed a listening device in his office. Bobby had guessed that Eric would come to Brooklyn after he found out.

That had been fifty minutes before, and Sookie had been pacing for nearly all of them.

After the first text, there had been others between her and Bobby. Bobby, Henry, and Blake were going to come by the next morning for breakfast so that they could talk to her and Eric about the listening device situation. According to the last text she'd gotten from Bobby, Blake was pretty sure that only one had been planted, but Thalia and Henry were using their military connections to get better equipment so that they could be sure.

Henry had called Sookie after putting Eric into a cab. His voice had held worry for them both, which was something Sookie was surprised by—even though she appreciated it. She looked at her phone. There was nothing new, but—then again—Eric had apparently smashed his own phone to pieces.

"He won't come faster, even if you pace a hole into the floor," Amelia said worriedly. Desperately needing someone to talk to, Sookie had already told Amelia about Appius's machinations to spy on his own son.

"I know," Sookie responded nervously. "But he should have been here by now."

"Saturday night traffic," Amelia reminded.

"I just wish I could call him," Sookie said. "But he destroyed his phone, Ames."

Amelia sighed. "I know, honey. But he's okay. They didn't let him drive."

Sookie nodded and then rushed to the window as a car pulled up.

"It's him," she said.

Amelia got up and patted Sookie on the shoulder before discreetly going to her room.

Sookie answered the door even before Eric could knock. After holding him for a few moments, she pulled him inside and then closed and locked the door behind them. Wordlessly, she led him back to the room that had been hers before she moved in with Eric.

"Sookie," he whispered in a tortured tone.

"I know," she returned.

"If Bobby and Henry hadn't been there, we wouldn't have ever known that Nora planted the bug," Eric whimpered, pulling her tightly against his body.

"I know," she said again.

"He would have heard us. He would have found out just how much I . . . ." His voice broke with emotion as he couldn't finish his sentence.

"I know."

"I would have lost you," he said, his voice shaking as he broke down in her arms. "He would have found a way to hurt you," he added, as his whole body began to shake with sobs and fear.

"Shhh," she sounded as she guided him to sit onto the bed.

She rocked him in her arms for a while, soothing him the best she could. Something inside of her understood that the Eric she was holding was reliving everything he'd ever been denied because of his father—with the most denied thing being Appius's love. And something else told her that Eric had never before let himself go—at least not to the point that he'd wept openly in front of another person.

"I'm going to lose you," he cried, his body shaking even harder. He buried himself into her arms as if he needed to find enough comfort for a lifetime there. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated. "So sorry. So sorry."

"Shhh," she tried to sooth.

"I'm going to lose you," he whispered again.

Knowing that they would, indeed, lose each other—even if they never lost their love for one another—all Sookie could do was continue to rock him in her embrace.

"But I can't lose you," he said sitting up a little so that he could look at her.

His body still shook, but his bright blue eyes held more life than Sookie had ever seen in them before. It was the kind of "life" that she imagined came into someone's eyes when he or she was fighting for survival.

"I don't think I can go on if I lose you," he said desperately. "When I saw the closet—saw it without your things inside—I felt like my heart had been . . . ." His voice trailed off as tears began to pour once more from his eyes.

She pulled him to her again and rocked him for a few more minutes before she spoke.

"I love you, Eric. That won't change no matter what happens in the future."

He looked up at her. "You deserve so much better than I've given you—so much better than me. You should order me away from you. Please—order me away."

She smiled sadly and thumbed away some of his tears, even as her own began to fall. "I can't, Eric. I can't because there is nothing better than you—not for me there isn't. And I think that we both deserve to be happy; you make me happy."

He leaned forward and took her lips with his own. Hot tears ran into hot tears as they deepened the kiss.

"You make me so goddamned happy, Sookie," he groaned as he pulled away so that they could both breathe for a few seconds. He trailed his kisses down to her throat and then to her collarbone.

She answered his kisses by placing some of her own anywhere she could reach: his forehead, his ear, his neck, and then his lips again as she pulled him to where she wanted him.

They kissed until both of them felt as if their lungs would burst and then they pulled away from each other, their eyes locking as their lips had done before.

"You're so beautiful it hurts," he panted, allowing himself to sink into her gaze.

"You too," she said almost desperately, as she reached out to slide his suit jacket from his shoulders; he helped the garment along, and it fell heavily onto the bed behind him. Keeping her eyes on his, she loosened and then took off his tie, before unbuttoning the light blue dress shirt he was wearing. With every garment that fell from his body, he looked lighter. Finally, she slipped off the white wife-beater he'd been wearing as an undershirt.

"Stand up," she requested even as she started working on his belt. He shuffled out of his trousers as soon as she unbuttoned and unzipped them, taking his shoes and socks with them as he went.

Sookie's eyes were both hungry and soft as she slipped his boxer-briefs over his hips.

She couldn't help but to admire the body of the man before her. He was so strong—every muscle flexible and perfect. His skin was smooth and soft, except for his hands which were slightly rougher because of the manual labor he did with them during his summers. She'd mapped every scar on his body. And—even more importantly—he'd allowed her to see every scar inside of his body. And in that moment, even as tear tracks stained his cheeks, she'd never seen a lovelier human being.

"Stand up, Sookie," he requested, taking her hand and helping her rise in front of him. She was wearing only a T-shirt, flannel lounge pants, and panties; they were quickly discarded.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he leaned over to draw down the covers of the bed, and then—even though they were right next to it—he picked her up and laid her down in the middle of it. He moved next to her and then claimed her lips again. It wasn't long before their bodies were flush against each other, his chest to hers, legs tangled, hands entwined sometimes and at other times searching.

It was a while before Eric finally pulled her on top of him; he needed to feel her weight on him—needed her to keep him from disappearing into numbness as he'd so often done as a child. But most of all, he wanted to see her above him—her tousled blond hair framing her face as if she were an angel or a goddess. He sighed with pleasure when she sank down onto his shaft—rolling her hips back and forth. Grinding against him.

A thousand words in both Swedish and English popped into his mind all at once, but the most beautiful one was "home"—"hem." She was looking at him with intensity in her blue eyes, and somehow he knew that she was thinking the same thing that he was.

He raised his hands to her hips to help with her movements, but it wasn't the ecstasy of being inside of her that gave him the most pleasure. It was the fact that she was looking at him as if she believed in him—trusted him. It was the fact that she had begun to look—more and more over the past several months—as if she believed in herself.

She rode him slowly until he could tell she was getting tired, and then he flipped them over so that he was lying behind her—spooning her. He tried to touch every bit of her that he could as he lifted her leg over his and entered her from behind.

They both groaned, loving the contact that the new position afforded. One of his hands wrapped around her and caressed one of her breasts, while the other went under and around her in order to stimulate her clit.

He reveled in the comfort of their slow, steady movements: in and out—again and again. His pace—just as hers had been—was unhurried, and it felt as if something was shifting in him as they made love. It was something almost imperceptible, save for the fact that he felt a little braver—a little more whole.

Needing to see her eyes, Eric repositioned them again, this time so that he was hovering over her. Again, he entered her and set a slow pace, bringing them to their releases with agonizingly rich precision.

They both moaned out in passion as he emptied into her, even as her walls throbbed around him. He stayed above her for a while, resting his weight on his elbows, but keeping all the contact with her body that he could. Their eyes stayed locked, and they spoke thousands of words with them.

None of them needed to be said aloud.

Eric and Sookie made love for hours. After the first time, which had been slow and tearful, they'd become more playful. Their second time was faster, and they couldn't stop laughing or tickling throughout most of the encounter as they raced each other to their orgasms. Both of them were happy that Amelia's room was on the other side of the large brownstone because they'd not been able to hold back in the noise department.

After that they'd showered together, but Sookie's shower at Amelia's was so small that the logistics were all out of whack, so they finished bathing quickly, returned to the bedroom, and made love again.

That third time had felt normal—comfortable—as if they'd reestablished themselves. As if they'd realized that they were okay.

"I like our shower at home," Sookie mused lazily as she threaded her fingers with Eric's again and again.

"Mmmm," he said tiredly, though he wasn't yet ready to let himself fall asleep. "I like it too."

"The shower seat makes things much easier too," she giggled.

"That it does, min älskare," he smirked.

"So—how did everything else go tonight?" she asked.

Eric knew that she was referring to everything except for the situation with his father.

"Fine," Eric said, turning so that he was on his side, facing Sookie. "More than fine—actually," he answered with a little excitement in his tone.

She grinned at him proudly. He really was tremendous at his work. She'd realized early on in their relationship that no one had ever told Eric that he or she was proud of the job he was doing. That wasn't to say that Eric hadn't felt respect from the people he worked with; he had. It was just that he'd never been shown pride by anyone when it came to the work he did, so she made sure that he knew how proud of him she was.

"Tell me about it?" she requested.

He smiled. "Well, my team and Mr. Li's team really seemed to solidify a good working relationship tonight. And I could tell that Liang and Mr. Li were both very pleased. Mr. Li even requested that he and I refer to each other by our given names!"

Sookie placed her hand onto his cheek. "That's a big deal for someone with as high of a position in his company as Mr. Li."

"Eric nodded. And he even . . . ," he paused and then closed his eyes.

"He what?" Sookie asked, caressing his shoulder lightly.

Eric opened his eyes. "He even said that when my team visits in February, we should bring our families."

"Oh," Sookie said gloomily. "Will he expect you to bring Isabel?"

Eric sighed. "I don't think so. When he mentioned it, I think that he sensed that I wouldn't want to, though I'm sure he has no idea why."

Sookie nodded. "Were you able to form an opinion about Mr. Li? What's his first name again?"

"Guo," Eric said.

"Guo," Sookie repeated, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar name correctly. "You told me that you hadn't been able to get a good read on Guo before."

"He's still hard for me to read," Eric said honestly, "but I know I respect him. And he said things tonight that made me," he paused, "think. He's a perceptive man—much more perceptive than most."

"What do you mean?" Sookie asked.

"Once Appius arrived, he cornered Guo—just as I expected him to," Eric informed, the tension returning to his face. "Unsurprisingly, my father didn't have very flattering things to say about me. Later, when I was having a private talk with Guo out on the terrace, he asked me about Appius. At first, I answered his questions a bit evasively, though not dishonestly, but then he all but told me that his firm would have gone with Vegas Publishing if it wouldn't have been for me. For my involvement—specifically!"

"Wow! That's really great!" she smiled.

Eric nodded excitedly. "And then Guo—without directly insulting Appius, of course—pretty much insulted the hell out of him! It was surreal."

"Are you okay?" Sookie asked after Eric was silent and contemplative for a few moments.

Eric closed his eyes. "When Bobby told me that Nora planted that listening device, I felt so many things all at once. I was enraged that Appius would try to infest my home—our home—with his hate. And then I felt betrayed by Nora. We may have never been particularly close, but I didn't think her capable of that."

He took a deep breath and looked at her again. "But none of that held a candle to the way I felt when I walked into our room and didn't see your things there." He stopped for a moment, his voice too thick with emotion to go on for a moment. "Before letting Nora back into the private part of our home, Bobby moved all your things, and everything felt so empty," he said as a tear fell from his eye. "And that's when I knew."

"Knew what?" she asked, practically holding her breath.

"I knew I'd have to find another way."

"What do you mean?" Sookie asked, her lip quivering.

"I'm not going to go through with the deal I made with my father, Sookie," Eric said quietly—though decisively. "I can't. I really think I'd die inside if I did." He let out a quiet sob. "I know that makes me a selfish bastard, but I can't give you up. I won't."

"But, Eric, what about all those people you've been trying to protect?" she asked. "What about being CEO? I know it's what you want. I can't ask you to give that up."

"You didn't ask," he said. "And being CEO has never been my main motivation for working at NP. And—as for the others—I'll do everything I can for them. I'll give everything that I have to them—except for you. And," he paused, "I'll just have to pray that God forgives me if it's not enough."

He took a deep breath. "Nothing in my life had ever mattered before I was with you, and I know that nothing will ever matter again—if you aren't by my side. I used to think that I could just make my way through my life—like a small boat works its way through an ocean. I would try to avoid rough waters by predicting where they would be, and—when I couldn't avoid them—I hoped that I could keep the boat on the top of the waves so that I wouldn't capsize. I never expected to be happy; I didn't know what that meant. But I thought that I could stay in one piece."

He took another deep breath. "But I'm not in one piece; I haven't been in one piece since my mother died. And I didn't even realize that until I started finding all these pieces of who I am and who I want to be. But the thing is that I would have never even known that those pieces were there—if you hadn't come into my life and shined a light on them."

"Oh Eric," Sookie said as tears began to fall down her cheeks. He used his thumbs to brush them away.

"Do you remember the gallery with the Islamic art that we went to in June? It was our first gallery together; it was the day you told me you wanted to have a relationship with me."

"I remember. Gallery 455 with all the manuscripts."  
"Yes. But none of those manuscripts was my favorite piece in the gallery."

"I know," Sookie said, closing her eyes as she recalled that day. Most of the time, Eric was accurate when it came to picking the piece she would choose as her favorite because it was the same piece that he gravitated toward. But that day had been different. "You didn't tell me your favorite that day; you said you would one day, but you haven't yet."

"That's because I knew you hated the thing that I was drawn to, the Mihrab—the prayer niche."

Sookie shivered involuntarily.

Eric pulled her close into his body—as if trying to protect her from "fear" itself. "I didn't know why you hated that piece until we talked in Sweden—until you told me about the corner you were made to sit in. I realized—then—that the Mihrab was like a corner in a way, a place where you might get trapped. I realized that no corner had ever answered your prayers."

"Except the corner where I first saw you," she whispered.

He sighed. "And that was a trap too. I was a trap for you—a trap that wouldn't be sprung for almost four years, but a trap nonetheless." He shook his head. "But I can't let it stay that way, Sookie—not anymore!" he said passionately.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up at him.

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "I told you earlier that I felt like I was broken—like I wasn't in one piece. It was when I was staring at the Mihrab—trying to figure out why you didn't want to look at it, when you wanted to examine everything else—that I suddenly began to see that I was actually in thousands of pieces, just like the tiles making up that prayer niche. And I knew that one day—after I'd hurt you—you wouldn't want to look at me either."

He sighed. "I almost left that day; I almost ran away before you could choose me. But I," he paused, "wanted you so badly, so instead I prayed. I looked into the Mihrab and I prayed."

"Eric," she whispered.

"I prayed that I would be the only one hurt because of our relationship. I prayed that you would come to hate me before our time was up."

"Why?" she asked through blurry eyes.

"So that you wouldn't be hurt when we had to part," he responded.

"Eric," she whispered again, drawing closer to him.

They clutched each other for several minutes, neither of them speaking.

Finally, he spoke at a volume she could barely hear. "I feel like I could take all those pieces of myself and start making something worthwhile out of them—something beautiful like the Mihrab. I want to build us a little piece of the world without corners in it—where neither one of us has to be afraid of anything. And I don't give a damn what Appius thinks! I don't give a damn what he does!"

"What about Northman Publishing? I know you love it."

Eric nodded. "I do, and I've worked hard there, but I could find other places to go if I had to. Contrary to what Appius believes, he doesn't control everyone in the publishing world. Guo Li taught me that—just tonight," he said with hope in his voice.

"What about your team?" she asked.

Eric's face twisted in agony. "Maybe—if I find other work—I could help them too. Or maybe—if I can give them enough notice—they could find other jobs. And I will save money in the meantime. Regardless, I can't break the contract until I'm thirty-five. Selling the house would look too suspicious to Appius right now, but I'll put away everything I can. And—after I break the contract—I'll give all my savings to my employees while they are looking for other work."

"And NP itself?" she asked.

He sighed. I can't worry about that anymore. Appius will choose another successor, and I have to trust that the company will go on without me. After all, it survived and thrived long before I started there."

"But it's your legacy—from both your sets of grandparents. Your morfar's company is part of it."

"I know," Eric said quietly. "But I realized something when I was looking at that empty closet. I realized that neither Morfar nor Grandfather Northman would want me to be miserable for the sake of a company."

"But you love Northman Publishing," Sookie insisted.

He opened and closed his mouth as if struggling to say something that he couldn't yet say. He wanted to tell her that he loved her a hell of a lot more than Northman Publishing—more than he'd ever loved anything—but he couldn't. He was still afraid of those words—of his father's reach into his life.

"I can't give you up," he finally said. "I won't. But I can give NP up. And I'm going to use the escape clause."

"But, Eric, I can't let you give up everything for me," Sookie said, her head shaking and her eyes registering shock at what he was saying. "You'd lose your home and your trust fund and all the stock you have left in Northman Publishing. And then there's your grandmother."

Eric sighed. "I don't care about the trust fund or the stock. And I've already bought my mormor some stock in NP. If she sells it, she will have enough to live on for a while. And, if that's not enough, I'll find a way to support her—somehow. Yes—once the dust settles, we'll lose our home in Manhattan. But I will—hopefully—find another job." He suddenly looked troubled. "But Appius will likely fire you too."

She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. I'll find something else too!"

Eric sighed. "I worry about Pam. Appius might fire her to spite me."

Sookie closed her eyes. "Just warn her. She's got several years until you're thirty-five. She can find something else. And—if there's one thing I've come to learn about her during the past months—it's that she loves you! She wants you to be happy, Eric, and she wouldn't want to be the reason you aren't."

He sniffled a little. "Appius will tarnish my mother's name. And Godric's."

Sookie nodded. "Yes. I imagine that he will—just out of spitefulness. But they are both dead, Eric. And you are alive. They would want you to be happy! I just know it!"

"I'll likely be charged with the statutory rape of Marnie Stonebrook. I'm sure that Appius will pressure her to press charges," Eric said with trepidation.

"We'll survive," Sookie responded. "Bobby will use his lawyer mojo to help you to prove that you didn't know she was underage when you had sex with her. And—even if you have to go to prison—at least it won't be the one Appius has made for you."

Eric closed his eyes. "And there's Peder. Appius now owns the bank that gave him his loan."

"Just warn him," Sookie said. "He'll have years to save money to repay the loan. And—if he can't—well—you can't take responsibility for that."

Eric nodded as his body started to shake again. She held him closer.

"I can do this," he said—as if trying to convince himself. "I know that other people will be hurt," he half-sobbed, closing his eyes for a moment, "but I have to do this. I can't break the contract until my thirty-fifth birthday, but—right at the stroke of midnight on that day—I will. Come what may."

"Eric, are you sure about all this?" Sookie asked. "If you do it, there will be no going back."

"No going back," he echoed.

He looked at her. "Sookie, I really don't care about the money, and NP will go on. I don't care about fancy houses or cars. What I care about most in this world is lying next to me right now."

A tear slipped from her eye.

"When I break that contract, I'll be gaining control of my life for the first time," he said with something akin to wonder in his voice. "And I will also be gaining so much more than I will be losing. And—I will do everything I can to help the others." He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. He shook his head. "I won't be able to protect all hundred and four of them," he said sadly. "But—maybe I can protect some of them."

He took her hand. "Sookie, I can't marry someone else; I can't. I can't marry anyone who's not you."

"Eric," she whispered.

He went on. "I choose you—just as you chose me in June. I should have done it before—the moment I first saw you!" He suddenly bit his bottom lip nervously. "If you want me, Sookie—if you are willing to be with me even though I might be incarcerated and left without a job or money." He shook his head and furrowed his brow, even as a fresh tear fell from his eye. "Wait." He sat up abruptly and put his feet on the floor.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Wait," he said again, this time whispering the word. "Wait. I can't. Wait."

"Wait?" she asked, sitting up next to him.

"No."

"No?" she questioned desperately.

Eric stood and looked for his jeans. Quickly he put them on. "No—I can't do this to you."

"Eric?"

"I can't ask you to settle for what I'll be able to give after Appius is done with me," he said shaking his head. "I can't. I won't."

Sookie went to speak, but Eric interrupted her.

"No. I can't. Appius is going to destroy me when I use the escape clause. He'll find a way to make sure I go to prison for the maximum sentence that statuary rape allows for. And he'll figure out how to keep me for getting work when I do finally get out. He'll use every bit of power he has to make me suffer! And—seeing that I," he paused, "care for you more than any other, he'll try to hurt you too." He shook his head. "No. I won't let you go through all that! I can't! I won't ask you to trade one half-life for another." His eyes wild and dripping fresh tears, he picked up his shirt and began to put it on quickly.

"You don't need to ask!" Sookie yelled, standing up quickly. "And—the last time I looked, I was in charge of my own fucking life!"

"Sookie, he'll hurt you!" Eric yelled, his voice twisted with agony.

"I know he will!" she yelled. "I get that! But if I'm not going to let you be in charge of my life, I'm damned sure not going to let Appius be in control! No! I've worked so hard to take my life into my own hands, Eric! It's up to me to decide what I want!"

"I can't let you," Eric said, his tone tormented.

Using both hands, she forcing him to sit back onto the bed. "And I can't let you leave me, Eric Northman." She shook her head. "Stupid blonde," she chuckled a little as she wiped away a tear from her own cheek and then one from his. "I want you, Eric Northman! I've always wanted you for as long as I can have you, and if you are willing to go through hell to keep me, then don't you know that I'm willing to do the same for you?"

"Sookie," he said shaking his head, "I can't let you get hurt. I could be selfish before—because Appius would have never found out about you. But—once I break the contract—he's going to find out about us!"

"Yes!" Sookie said proudly. "Yes he will. Because I'll be the one standing right next to you when you break the contract and tell him to go to hell!" She took a breath. "And I'll keep standing right next to you—through anything that Appius throws at us."

"Even if I'm in prison?" Eric asked.

"Yes," she said. "Maybe I'm the selfish one, but I'd rather have you be mine and be in a government prison than be someone else's and be in Appius's prison."

Eric sighed. "Me too."

"I'm with you, Eric. Please—respect my choice! Please," she paused, "be with me."

Tears streaming down his face again, he pulled her into his embrace and held her tightly. "Thank you, Sookie Stackhouse. Thank you."

"We just had a fight—a real one," she whispered after they'd been silent for a while.

"I'm glad you won it, min älskare," he said, looking up at her with vulnerable, open eyes. They held an expression she'd not see before: they held hope for the future.

"Me too," she responded, kissing his forehead.

After divesting Eric of his clothes again, Sookie pulled him back into bed and back into her embrace.

They didn't speak for a while after that. They were both exhausted from their love-making and their emotional talk. They knew that the sun would be rising in only a couple of hours; however, they wanted to keep ahold of each other, and sleep would have relaxed that hold more than either of them was ready for at the moment.

"I've been able to build up quite a bit of money through investments," Eric said quietly. "By my thirty-fifth birthday, I'll have enough accumulated to set up a trust for my employees who lose their jobs because of me. And I'll try to warn the ones I can—well ahead of time—to try to find something else." He sighed. "For I while, I'll have to cut ties with my siblings, except for Pam and Alexei; they are both over eighteen, so Appius couldn't bar me from seeing them. When Gracie and A.J. are older, I can try to reestablish a relationship with them."

"And Nora?" Sookie asked.

"I don't know," Eric said. "It's possible that Appius is just using her as a pawn."

"You could tell her the truth. If Pam told her, it might be even more convincing."

Eric sighed. "I trusted Pam. When I told her, I already trusted her. Even if she chose Appius, I knew that she wouldn't go out of her way to harm me—or you."

"But you don't feel the same about Nora?" Sookie asked.

"I can't be sure about her," Eric said honestly. "She's always been Appius's favorite." He sighed. "And—frankly—even if she believed me and knew the truth, she might pick him."

"And if she picked him, she would help him," Sookie said perceptively.

Eric nodded. "Pam still loves Appius, yet she helps me," he reminded.

Sookie nodded, but then tried to sound optimistic. "But you will still have Alexei and Pam in your life. Appius can do nothing to stop you from contacting them."

Eric smiled a little. "Yeah."

Alexei had made contact with him a couple of months before, and Eric had been trying to strengthen his relationship with his younger half-brother since then. They still weren't as close as Eric would have liked, but he could tell that Alexei was settling down a little. His younger brother had called him several times for advice or just to talk things through. Alexei's relationship with Appius was somewhat tepid, though it wasn't anything like Eric's relationship with their father. No—Appius had always accepted and even indulged Alexei's excesses. But when Appius had determined that Alexei's plans to go to acting school in London were just another one of his whims, Alexei had called his older brother looking for support for something he truly cared about.

Eric sighed ruefully. "Okay—so the best case scenario is that Appius just shuts down my division, fires everyone in it, fires Pam, takes my stock and the trust fund, tarnishes my mother's name, drags Godric's reputation through the mud, and lets me go. Maybe," he paused, "he would settle for those things."

"And we could go somewhere else," Sookie suggested, "maybe even to Sweden to start over. We'd sell the house and give all our savings to your employees. Pam would be okay—because we'd tell her to save her money and she'd find something else—even if it were as a fashion critic."

Eric chuckled a little.

"And," Sookie went on, "your mom and Godric would both understand."

Eric frowned a little. "Appius won't make it easy. He won't like me going against his wishes. And there is always the possibility that he might have other things to punish me with—things we can't foresee."

She smiled. "Then we'll disappear—go to Greece and become fishermen."

He chuckled. "Greece? Fishermen?"

She shrugged. "Why not? Or we could hide out in the lake house and you could make furniture. You could sell it under another name."

"And you'd be my sugar mama?" Eric laughed a little.

"Yeah," she grinned, letting her dimples show.

He sighed. "Before today, I prayed that the time until I turned thirty-five would pass slowly because I knew that I would have to give you up then. But now that I won't be doing that, I can't wait for the time to blaze by—so that all this can be done."

Sookie sighed. "I know. But if you break the contract now, it would be worse—right?"

Eric nodded and kissed her head. "Yes. And the time will actually be good. I need to make sure my team at NP is okay—or, at least, as okay as I can make them. And I need to warn others whom Appius might hurt—like Pam." He sighed. "And you will be losing your job too, and I know you send money to Gran."

"So we stay as we are until your thirty-fifth birthday."

"Yeah. And we hope that Appius doesn't find out about us; otherwise, he'll try to make our lives a living hell. Meanwhile, I'll save all the money I can."

"We'll save," she corrected.

"Yes," he agreed. "We."

They stared at each other for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry that it took me so long to choose you," he said quietly.

She put her hand on his cheek. "You were thinking of other people."

He nodded. "Yes. But I have to be selfish now. I have to be selfish with you," he said passionately.

Sookie looked up at him with a smile on her face. "We're really going to do this?"

He kissed her forehead. "If you mean spend the rest of our lives together, then—yes—that's what I want."

"It's what I want too."

Eric sighed and then smiled. "I'm glad."

She tucked her body into his and rested her head onto his chest as he turned over onto his back and pulled her with him so that she was nestled into his side. She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were closed.

"Mr. Li seemed to see things that others don't see," he said quietly.

"Like what?" Sookie asked.

"Earlier, he saw Appius looking at me through the glass door leading to the terrace. Guo commented that Appius looked at me like I was his enemy."

"What did you say?" Sookie asked.

"I told him that I wasn't Appius enemy—or, at least, that I didn't intend to be."

"What did he say?"

"He agreed that I was not, but then he said words I'll never forget."

"What?"

"He said that Appius would one day make me his enemy if he didn't learn to recognize his chief business asset—even if he couldn't take pride in the gift of a child."

"Wow," Sookie said, as she contemplated Mr. Li's words.

"I have—despite everything—always wanted Appius's acceptance," Eric said, his eyes still closed.

"I know," Sookie responded quietly. She could empathize. Part of her still wished for Michelle's acceptance too.

"Even when I knew that he would never love me as a son, I endeavored to be the best I could be at Northman Publishing. Even then I wanted some kind of recognition from him—something like approval." He paused. "Even if he couldn't give me love."

"I know."

"Until tonight, I would have never made him my enemy," Eric said, a tear falling down his cheek, "no matter how much I hated him." He went on, "And if tonight hadn't happened—if Appius hadn't asked Nora to plant that bug—I wonder if I would have kept to the original plan and given you up—just so that I could protect everyone else but us." He sighed. "Just so that I could try to gain a tiny bit of favor from him."

He shook his head as more tears fell. "I hate and love him," he admitted quietly, choking out the word that he associated so closely with loss—the word that he was so afraid of that he couldn't even say it about Sookie.

"I know," she said, rocking him against her again.

"Appius became my enemy tonight," Eric said soberly. "And I am going to fight him with everything I have. I'm going to fight for you. I'm going to fight for us. And I'm going to," he paused, "fight for myself."

"Me too," Sookie said. "Come what may."


	67. Epilogue: A Sold Soul

Epilogue: A Sold Soul

Several hours earlier (right after the cocktail party); outside of Carmichael Tower

"Well that went well," Appius deadpanned.

Andre chuckled as he settled next to Appius in the limo. The privacy panel was up, and no one else was in the vehicle yet, so Appius let the stress of the evening show on his face.

"You okay, baby?" Andre whispered as he brought Appius's hand up to his lips for a gentle kiss. Appius leaned into his lover's touch, an action that he usually wouldn't have indulged in outside of his bedroom or private office suite at NP; however, Pam, Nora, and Sophie-Anne were chatting in front of the entrance of Carmichael Tower as they looked at Gracie's pictures, and the limo's windows were heavily tinted.

"I despise him," Appius said, sinking further into Andre's warm embrace.

"I know," Andre comforted as he stroked Appius's hair. "But the dreaded party is now over. And because of you, the Chinese company chose us, despite any misgivings they likely had about Eric."

"Don't say his name," Appius sighed as he brought his lips to Andre's and forgot his worries for a few moments.

"How about if I scream your name later?" Andre asked as he nipped Appius's chin playfully.

"Sounds good," Appius smiled. He moved a little away from Andre as he saw Sophie-Anne and Nora turn to come to the limo. He was a big believer in keeping his private life private—even though his wife and daughters knew of his romantic connection to Andre.

Appius noticed that the progress of the women was delayed when Isabel joined them on the sidewalk.

"You would think that she'd just stay the night with him," Appius mused as he looked at Isabel through narrowed eyes.

Andre shrugged. "Perhaps Eric still has his rendezvous only at the apartment in Northman Tower."

"No," Appius said thoughtfully. "My people tell me he hasn't used the apartment there for the better part of a year—since last December, in fact. I assumed it was because he was bringing Isabel here."

"Perhaps he does. Perhaps she has to be somewhere early tomorrow," Andre suggested. "Or," he chuckled, "maybe they've had a lover's spat."

Appius frowned. He'd seen no evidence of fighting between Isabel and Eric. Perhaps Isabel leaving was insignificant—as Andre seemed to think; however, it seemed odd to Appius that Isabel wouldn't stay over at her "almost" fiancé's home on a weekend night. He knocked on the limo's divider.

Immediately, Wybert lowered it. "Can I be of assistance, sir?" he asked.

"Yes—where's your brother?" Appius asked.

"Parked about two blocks away in the Lexus—just as you asked," Wybert responded. Should I call him? Will Miss Nora need the car as you thought she might?"

"Yes," Appius said. "Call him, but not for Nora. I want Sigebert to stay here and keep an eye on Eric. You two can rotate off and on, but—starting tonight—I want to know his every move for the next week."

"Of course," Wybert said. "Will there be anything else?"

Appius shook his head and gestured for his body guard/chauffeur to raise the privacy screen again. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up as he looked back as Isabel.

"Something has been off about him—about Eric," Appius said to himself as much as to Andre. "He's been different for several months now."

"What do you mean?" Andre asked. "I haven't noticed anything amiss with him."

"It's something," Appius pondered. "Something. I just can't put my finger on it."

Appius glanced at his Rolex. He couldn't wait to get home so that he could begin to monitor the listening device Nora had planted in Eric's office. If he was lucky, he'd find out something that very night. He'd wanted to put another bug in Eric's bedroom, but he knew that Nora would have never gone for that. He just hoped that he'd be able to get something incriminating on the boy by monitoring his office communications.

In addition, he was trying to get someone onto the security staff of Carmichael Tower—so that he could bug every square inch of Eric's home. Inconveniently, the individual who headed security was not one to be easily manipulated, so all the people Appius had sent to apply for work in the tower had been denied. However, Appius had done his research on the rest of Henry Giles's team. They were all ex-military or ex-police. And they all had a personal connection either to Giles himself or to another member of the team. Sadly, none of them seemed bribable.

However, he'd found someone who both fit Giles's hiring pattern and was easily buyable. And he was confident that she would soon be in place.

Meanwhile, he would have Sigebert and Wybert keep an eye on Eric. And if the boy was hiding something, he would find it out.

Appius leaned back into the seat of the limo and relaxed a little. He smiled. Secrets were ammunition. And more ammunition meant that he could make sure that Eric continued to suffer.

Yes, Appius thought. He would do everything in his power to make sure that Eric suffered as he had suffered—even if he had to sell his soul to do it!

 

The End of Comfortably Numb

Please check out the next part of the CN Series, Touch the Flame.


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